


You Gave Up Being Good (When You Declared A State Of War)

by FiliTheLionKing (IAmYourWatson)



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, But It Certainly Isn't Nice Either, Canon-Typical Violence, End Of Mentioned Warnings, F/F, Fashion & Couture, Gun running, Hacking, Human Trafficking (Only Mentioned But Be Warned), Implied/Referenced Drug Use, It's Not Quite As Dark As It Sounds I Promise, M/M, Organized Crime, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Post-Canon, References To Booker's Canonical Death Wish, References to Depression, Sort Of, Tags Contain Spoilers, The Following Are Mentioned But Not Elaborated On:
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-18
Updated: 2020-11-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:54:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 41,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25970917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IAmYourWatson/pseuds/FiliTheLionKing
Summary: How do you live when you have nothing to lose and all the time in the world?For Booker, the answer is simple: you live out of spite.In which an empire rises, old habits are unlearned, and forgiveness is a two-way street.
Relationships: Andy | Andromache of Scythia/Quynh | Noriko, Booker | Sebastien le Livre/Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolo di Genova, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Spoiler Pairing:
Comments: 175
Kudos: 212





	1. This Is How I Disappear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first time he died, he died surrounded by ice and cold, a rope around his neck as he desperately gasped for air. 
> 
> Every night, he died by drowning by proxy, the muffled screams of a woman he had never met ringing in his ears as he tried to breathe. 
> 
> Too many deaths to count after the first one, Booker died by fire, breathing easy for the first time in over 200 years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to this latest edition of me being back on my bullshit! As always, comments keep me going, so please let me know what you think!
> 
> You can find the soundtrack for this fic [here](https://comme-un-livre-ouvert.tumblr.com/post/627308699042627584/kill-v-maim-grimes-b-e-h-a-v-e-never-more)!

The thing about building a criminal empire is that it takes time, and a man like Booker? Well, he has nothing _but_ time.

* * *

Six months after the Prospect of Whitby, after standing on that rocky shore until the sun began to set, Booker had entered his meager apartment to find the object of his nightmares staring right back at him. The one-sided exchange of pleasantries had sobered him up faster than he had ever sobered up before, leaving Booker reeling from the change. A million thoughts ran through his addled mind, but the loudest was this:

_“Oh, thank God, they’re finally over. The dreams. The nightmares. They’re finally over!”_

Despite many opinions to the contrary, Booker was not a complete fool, and despite his overwhelming relief, he kept his gun trained firmly on the space between Quynh’s eyes. They held their staredown for what felt like years, but was likely a matter of seconds. Quynh had studied him with the intelligent grace of a cat measuring up the fat content of a scrawny mouse. Eventually, she seemed to come to a decision. She set her glass down, stepped forward…and walked right past him. Without so much as a word, a glance, or even a breath, she walked out of his door. Her footsteps faded into nothing, leaving Booker standing in his kitchen with his weapon still raised.

Confusion settled over him like a wet blanket. He had been expecting a fight or a psychotic speech. Hell, he’d even been mildly prepared for her to laugh at him and call him pathetic. Instead, all he’d been presented with was a calculating gaze and utter silence. Nothing about her body language truly gave her away, and as Booker finally lowered his gun and sat down at his table, he found that no amount of mental analysis could reveal what she was thinking when she left. He stared at the half-empty glass of water sitting on the counter as if it held all the answers in the world. The gentle sunlight shone through the glass, the magnified ray burning into his retinas. As the day slowly turned into night, Booker sat there, forcing his mind to lift itself from the leftover haze of whiskey and vodka.

What had Quynh wanted? The location of the others, probably. Were Nile’s dreams harder to read than his? They were so intimately familiar with each other’s screams, so maybe he had been the easier target. Had she seen what he’d done and come to enact vengeance as a coming home gift to her family? No, if that had been the case, she would have struck him down as easily as a spider strikes down a fly. Had she come to recruit him for some elaborate scheme, evil or otherwise? Perhaps. Booker was the ideal target: alone, lonely, and emotionally compromised. His mental state was what gave Copley the leverage he’d needed to convince Booker that his convoluted plan was right and righteous. Quynh, from what the others had told him, was “a pit viper in battle,” quick and cunning and dangerous. Booker had no doubt that if Quynh had thought that he was a worthy pawn for her chessboard, then she would have wormed her way into his brain and convinced him to do whatever she wanted in exchange for the hope of salvation and death. That seemed to be the most likely course of action for a woman who had just escaped confinement at the bottom of the sea. There Booker was, ripe for the plucking, and yet, Quynh had left. The sun sank low enough that the ray of light in the glass flickered out and went dark.

Those eyes. Dark and cold like the deepest depths of the ocean. Those eyes had met his…and found him wanting. Yes. That was it. The last of the fog cleared from Booker’s mind, leaving the cold, hard truth behind: Quynh had looked him over, saw nothing there worth taking, and walked away. Just like everyone else, Quynh had abandoned him, tossed him aside like so much refuse on the side of the street, and who could blame her? He was useless. An alcoholic so far down in the pit of despair that the light couldn’t reach him. Good only for the services he could provide, and those were few and far between. Easily replaced and easily forgotten. A deserter and a forger, a liar and a thief. Selfish and self-centered, strong in a fight and weak everywhere else. Too young to be wise, too old to be hopeful. An extra body that no one asked for. The despair rose like a wave, crashing over him as Booker counted his many sins on the surface of the glass.

But then, as the streetlights began to faintly glow, Booker came to a realization. A revelation, if you will. The creaking of the house faded into nothingness as he turned his gaze inwards, deeper than the surface of his soul. He moved past the clinging foam of misery and the creeping vines of loneliness, his metaphorical hands scraping the morass off of his eyes. What he saw, what he _felt_ , was an emotion so foreign to him that the word came to him, not in French, but in English: rage. Pure, horrible, unadulterated _rage_. This wasn’t anger or frustration, things that occasionally broke through the haze of desolation. No, this was something more primal, darker than night and all the stronger for its darkness. Rage. Hatred. Spite.

How dare they?

How _dare_ they?

Black bile crawled through his veins in his mind’s eye, fury given visible form as Booker felt a distant sort of calm settle onto his shoulders. He felt himself lean back in his chair, raising his eyes to stare at the ceiling as if his body was on autopilot. Perhaps it was. Perfect stillness was a sniper’s trait, one that Booker had never quite been able to master, not like Nicky had, but in this moment, he could almost hear his heart slow its beating. The thought of his former brother made the black poison rise further through his skin, the distorted image of himself in his mind warping even further. His real eyes closed as he grits his teeth, wallowing in the anger like he used to wallow in alcohol and misery.

In over 200 long years, he had not felt such an incandescent energy within his being, not even when he thought himself a mortal man with mortal problems. Fear was the dominant emotion when he was forced to choose between death and military service. Fear was his motivation to desert. Fear was what drove him through the freezing snows of Russia towards his home. Fear had been his driving force for years, only to melt into utter helplessness and hopelessness as his wife and children tore him to pieces inch by bloody inch with their words and their hatred. He had born it all with wretched guilt etching itself into his heart and soul, never once raising his hand or his voice to them in return. Then they died, having destroyed all of his happy memories of them as punishment for not saving them from the iron grip of death. And despite of all the turmoil his family had put him through, not once had Booker been angry. Not with them, not with fate, not with the world. He had only feared, and despaired, and then, with a grim reluctance, he had accepted that this was all his due for living the life of a coward and a liar.

When he had joined Andromache, Nicolò, and Yusuf, Booker had allowed himself a small fragment of hope. Not for an end to his pain, but for a chance to not be alone again. Then he had woken one night, gasping for air with the muffled screams of a drowning woman still on his lips and ringing in his ears. Andromache had left their camp and had not returned for three days, leaving Yusuf and Nicolò to explain. Booker felt nothing but sorrow for his friends, his brothers and sister. He knew intimately what it was like to lose the one you loved most in the world. His Èlodie, oh, his Èlodie, lost to him like Quynh was lost to Andromache. He saw the unfathomable sadness and regret in his sister’s eyes, the sorrow and fear in his brothers’, and Booker never spoke of it again. Once in a long while, one of them would ask, and Booker would lie to them and say that the dreams had gone away. He was, if nothing else, a consummate liar. Booker lost himself in the bottom of a bottle to chase away his demons, dreamed or otherwise, and the others let him fall.

Andy, as she would come to be known, would often join him, the two egging each other on as they reveled in the sharing of their misery. Nicky and Joe remained steadfastly buried in their own romance, unchanging in their love for one another, either ignoring or refusing to see how far down Booker and Andy were dragging each other. Booker never hated them for having an eternal love, but his jealousy that they got to keep their happiness was something that tainted the sight of their kisses and soft assurances for decades to come. He let Andy draw him into her downward spiral, the two of them drowning their sorrows in alcohol and bad decisions like they were mirroring Quynh’s eternal torment on a smaller scale. In their guilt, they fed on each other, mistaking shared misery for coping.

Sure, there were genuine moments of happiness and calm, and Booker would be forever grateful for those moments. For Nicky and his quiet strength, his excellent food, and his sharp intellect. For Joe and his gregarious nature, his artistic insight, and his easy friendship. For Andy and her vast experience, her biting wit, and her enduring strength. In the end, Booker couldn’t blame them all entirely for what he had become. He had not reached out beyond sharing a bottle with Andy when she offered it, trying to be a good brother when all he was doing was allowing them both to destroy themselves. He never asked for help, if only so that he, the coward that he was, could keep the horrifying looks of anguish from their eyes. Better that he suffer alone, he’d thought, and look where that got him. He could take responsibility for what he did. Punishment was necessary and deserved, he knew that. Blood was spilled, and so blood must be paid. An eye for an eye, the priests of his Catholic childhood had once said. He deserved this. The desolation warred with the fury for a brief moment, murky shadows trying to dampen the sparking flames lighting the pit of his stomach. Booker felt that familiar sensation of hopelessness reach its bony arms out from the seabed of his soul and grab at his shirt, simultaneously coaxing and demanding that he return to the malaise that had haunted his every waking moment since he fell from the noose’s grip. It would be so easy to sink back in, to just close his eyes and let the sadness take him once again. So easy. So soft and easy…

No.

Booker’s eyes opened wide, barely registering the streaks of red light painting the ceiling from the passing cars. The images of ghostly hands clawing at his body and black acid gnawing at his veins disappeared in an instant. He was here, in Paris, in his shitty excuse for an apartment, surrounded by the fragments of a life unlived. His lungs expanded as he breathed deeply for the first time in centuries, all thoughts of the sea finally forgotten. The sound of a blaring horn broke the eerie silence of his flat, and the sorrow was torn from his mind, replaced for the final time by the incandescent rage that filled down to his very fingertips. A moment passed where he was held in the glorious embrace of hatred, hatred for his wife, his children, his brothers and sisters. _“How dare they?”_ echoed in his mind until it too faded into nothingness. He rose from his seat as if pulled by an invisible string, his eyes focusing on the half-empty glass of water as the rest of the world blurred around him. In mere seconds, he was across the tiny room, the cool cup gripped firmly by his right hand. He stared down into its shallow depths, the water reflecting the red traffic lights like iridescent blood suspended in oil.

How _dare_ they? How dare they cast him aside like he meant nothing to them. How dare they look at him and find him wanting. He was Sebastien Le Livre, he was Booker, he was the world’s greatest forger, a wizard with technology of every kind, cunning, quick, and deadly. He had nothing left to lose, which made him the most dangerous kind of man there is. How dare they? If it had been Andy, all would be forgiven immediately. The privileges of leadership, of being the oldest, of being so goddamn _pathetic_. If it had been Joe or Nicky, all would be forgiven at the end of their swords. One would not leave without the other, they all knew it, and it was either lose them both or accept their terms. Hypocrites. How dare they? Nile…Nile had never factored into his equations. He had no feelings one way or the other about if it had been Nile. For a brief moment, the blurred lines crystalized, and Booker knew that Nile had only gone along with it because she had to. He understood. She was forgiven, not that she needed it. He understood very well. The others, though. Well. Booker turned the glass this way and that, holding it up at eye level as the lights flickered across the walls, a pagan dance of artificial fire on plaster. The rage built into a crescendo. Beautiful, but utterly meaningless. Mere science, a refraction of humanity’s attempts at replicating the sun. Small and easily contained. Easily destroyed. So easy…

The glass shattered against the far wall, water staining the old plaster as the shards fell to the floor. He’d thrown it without a sound, not even a grunt of effort. No satisfaction came from the action. It was just a thing to do, the expected thing. The rage burned out, as all wildfires do. What was left was neither calm nor regret. Booker took another deep breath just because he could. His throat didn’t sting with phantom saltwater. The judging gazes of his families, immortal and otherwise, did not stare down at him with disgust. Another car roared past, and Booker idly registered the sound, the make and model coming to the forefront of his mind before slipping away without being remembered. The air was still once again, a moment of suspense, the water receding before the tidal wave crashed against the shore. The lights outside flashed white, then red once again. The streetlights gave off their pallid glow as the sky went from navy blue to pitch black, devoid of stars this deep into the city. He breathed again. Breath came so much easier now that he knew that the nightmares were over. He felt…he felt…

Free.

A quiet, almost croaking sound climbed up his throat, unfamiliar to him after months of going unused. The sound grew in volume and strength, a wretched thing gaining strength from the mere act of existing as it launched itself from his trachea, up into his mouth, past his teeth, before at last falling from his lips. Booker’s shoulders shook as he finally recognizes the sound: it was laughter. He fell back against the counter, leaning on it as his whole body convulsed with manic joy and virulent contempt. He laughed and laughed, at the shards, at himself, at Quynh, at the world, at all the people he had ever known. He was free. How dare they? No. Fuck them. Fuck all of them. His wife, his children, his sisters and brothers. Fuck them! Booker was free. He didn’t need them.

All the years of neglect, of blaming him for things beyond his control, of using him as a crutch, of using his talents with no reward, of taking their misery out on him while he was drowning too. All the years of dreaming of a woman trapped beneath the ocean, of dreaming of the hatred painted on his wife’s face like rouge, of dreaming of his son’s fury over something that Booker could never control and never wanted. Years of looking on in jealousy tempered with longing at a world he desired but would never belong in, too young to understand and too late to form the kind of connections Andy and Nicky and Joe had. Years of missing his wife, years of missing his sons, years of missing people who sat right in front of him. So much in so little time, if the torturously slow centuries could be counted as so little time. No. No more. He would endure it no more. He would not bear the burden of a curse he never asked for. He would not bear the weight of his sorrow, of guilt for things he did not do. He was free. He had broken the surface and landed upon the sandy shore, and before him lay the world. Booker would never drown again. He watched the water dry, the glass stop shaking, and the lights do their everlasting dance.

The laughter faded, and in its wake, Booker felt resolve build within him. He would not define himself by others, nor by his past. He would become a new man. What was one more forged identity? He had gone by so many names that this was old hat to him now. He was free. He could do whatever he wanted to now. But what _would_ he do, now? One hundred years, no contact. Those were the only rules. They never said that he couldn’t do this, or that, or that Booker had to remain in one place. It was a punishment made in the heat of the moment, and Booker knew all too well how poor heat of the moment decisions could be. Luckily for him, this time it worked out in his favor. He would keep to the rules of his exile. It was an easy penance to pay, not that he had any intention of coming to collect the receipt one hundred years from now. No, he would not on that rocky bank a century from now. He was free. He was free, and he did not need them. He would never need them again. So what would he do, then, without Andy’s guiding edicts? Without the wisdom of beings who had seen empires rise and fall, who supposedly knew so much more than he did, such wise and elegant creatures of death and destruction. Booker laughed again, a small huff of air that dissipated into nothing. Yes, the ever-wise survivors of ancient empires that died like the men and women who ruled them.

Wait a minute. _Empires_. Booker tilted his head to the side, glancing down at the broken glass littering his floor. Empires the likes of which he had known as a boy no longer existed. There was nothing left in the world to colonize now that every last corner of the map had been explored. Britain was an island once again, clinging to the few outliers she had left. France was much the same, but worse. Belgium, Japan, America, the Netherlands, all of them reduced to mere shells of what they had once been. No, empires today were built in the dark, in filthy alleyways and obvious drug fronts, in the digital hallways of the internet and the paper battlegrounds of the stock markets. Booker’s gaze landed on his laptop, tucked away in a corner so it wouldn’t fall victim to one of his drunken mishaps. Ah, there was the key to his kingdom. With just a few keystrokes, Booker could topple nations, but that wasn’t what he wanted. A man like him could make good in the shadows. An empire of sin, built on the worst that humanity had to offer. Booker leaned further back and honestly considered it for a moment. He could picture it easily in his mind’s eye: himself, sitting at the top of a syndicate, controlling the ebb and flow of humanity’s vices, bending others to his will. If he couldn’t control his own death, he could control the deaths of others. He could be cruel. He could be merciful. He could be a god, much like Andromache had once been a goddess.

But no. The _last_ thing he wanted was to be like Andromache. That was what had gotten him into this mess in the first place. So no, not a god, but perhaps being a ghost would suit him just fine. Here one moment, gone the next. An avenging spirit, like the angels the priest used to praise on those Sunday mornings long past. A hunter in the dark. When Booker looked back on the things he had done in the name of justice, he knew that he had long passed the point where he had to fear becoming the monsters he was meant to hunt. He was already a monster. The world wouldn’t know what hit it. Booker would build himself an empire, ascending to the throne of the underworld in silence. He could do some good. Another quiet laugh escaped him as he remembered the words of a man whose name would no longer sting his lips. Humanity couldn’t be fixed, but it could be contained, like water in a glass. Satan had fallen from Heaven for the sin of loving God more than humanity. Booker’s own fall from grace was a little less dramatic, and for different reasons, but the thought remained. Better to rule in hell and all that. A grim smile spread across his face. To hell he would go.

Booker rolled his shoulders back, standing upright before adjusting the cuffs of his jacket sleeves. His eyes flickered around the room, cataloging the few possessions he couldn’t live without and mentally discarding the rest. If he was going to become a ghost, he didn’t need much. There was precious little in the world he cared about now anyway, and oh, wasn’t that such a wonderful feeling? He walked back to the table, making a slight detour to pick up his laptop while ignoring the crunching of glass beneath his shoes. It’s not like it could kill him. Booker lowered himself back into his chair with a grace he hadn’t possessed since he was last sober, which, he idly remembered, was well before his first death. With another deep breath, Booker watched as the lights flashed white, then red yet again. It was almost hypnotizing, but Booker didn’t let himself fall into a stupor. He had work to do now. One didn’t simply disappear from the face of the earth without pulling a few strings. Tonight, he would die the easiest death he had ever died. Sebastien Le Livre had died in the ice and snow, cold and gasping for air. Booker had suffered nearly every death imaginable, from suffocation to bleeding out to decapitation, but he had never died by fire before. To die in the heat was an ideal way to go in his opinion. He had no desire to be cold ever again. Booker licked his lips, his tongue gliding across the sharp edges of his teeth. He would become _un phénix_. He would burst into flames and rise from the ashes, reborn. A dead man brought back to life in an endless cycle. It was fitting, he thought. Poetic. Dramatic. Perfect.

With that grim smile still on his face, Booker took another deep breath of air, overjoyed at how he no longer drowned, flipped open his laptop, and went to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title of this chapter taken from "This Is How I Disappear" by My Chemical Romance.
> 
> You can find my The Old Guard writings and screamings at comme-un-livre-ouvert.tumblr.com!


	2. Swimmin' In Pools Of Momentary Bliss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A decade of immortality is settling well onto Nile's shoulders. If there's some weight to the years, well, she's learning to deal with it. 
> 
> Copley has a new mission for them. It's simple, a standard hit and run. In and out. Practically a training mission. 
> 
> On the surface of Copley's computer screen, the name Lazarus burns its way into her retinas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, hello, one and all! Thank you so much for your compliments and comments! You really gave me the energy and inspiration to write this chapter. I know that I'm keeping you waiting for what you all want, but I promise you that it will all be worth it! I didn't expect this chapter to turn out the way it did, but you know how the muses are. Let me know what you think!
> 
> You can find the playlist for this story [here](https://comme-un-livre-ouvert.tumblr.com/post/627308699042627584/kill-v-maim-grimes-b-e-h-a-v-e-never-more)!

“I thought raves died out in the 90’s?”

“Nile, you of all people should know by now that what is dead may never die.”

Nile groaned, rubbing her forehead as she threw Nicky an exasperated look. “I _knew_ that showing you guys ‘Game of Thrones’ was a bad idea.”

Nicky gave his sister the smallest of grins before turning back towards Copley. In the ten years since she had met the people she now called family, Nile had learned a frankly terrifying amount of things, not the least of which was that Nicky had a hidden mischievous streak that only showed around those he was comfortable with. While he was nowhere as outwardly effusive as his husband, Nile had quickly discovered that his quiet demeanor should not be mistaken for meekness or blandness. Nicky was not a mouse, although to this day, Nile hadn’t quite decided what animal he really was. You had to have _something_ to do when you were immortal, after all, and for Nile, playing a mental game of “Which Animal Are You?” was the least strange thing she had done in the last decade.

So far, Andy was a harpy eagle, Joe was some type of desert fox, and Quynh was a rotating variety of snakes. Nile liked to think of herself as a kind of canid, adaptable, family-oriented, and deadly in a fight. She was pulled from her musings by a polite cough, and she turned back to Copley, who had kindly waited for his guests to finish their little back and forth before continuing with his briefing.

“So, as I was saying…” Copley turned back to his computer, tapping on the screen to bring up a few files and swiping them over to the projector screen in the wall behind him. Technology had marched on in the decade since he had joined their team, and he had updated his house with the latest advancements as they come on the market (and sometimes before, too).

“This should be a relatively simple mission, but it is of vital importance. For the last few years, the chatter among the intelligence agencies is that the American cartels are on the verge of bankruptcy. With so little left to lose, they’re getting bolder in their tactics. Some are quietly dying out, but many aren’t willing to give up what’s left of their control. The word is that a new drug is about to come onto the market, and its inaugural shipment will be coming from here: the Sonoran Desert, specifically Arizona.”

A few maps appeared on the screen, indicating a set of coordinates in the southern regions of Arizona, near the border with Mexico. With another click, a series of pathways was overlaid on top of the maps, showing the most popular smuggling routes. Some were red, while the rest were various shades of blue and green. A legend indicated that the red routes were the most commonly used pathways, the blue ones were used by only the most minor players, and the green lanes were regular United States highways and freeways. In the bottom right corner of the screen, a small window opened, showing the formula for the drug in question: ecstasy.

“The drug being shipped out is a new form of MDMA. It is rumored that it will be the cleanest version yet, with fewer side-effects and less chance of contamination. The formula is said to be the best-kept secret of the modern age. Not even the deepest undercover agents can get a hint about it. If this starts circulating, it will put the smaller manufacturers out of business. Normally, a new formula wouldn’t kill such enterprises, but the other rumor is that this version will be sold so cheaply that it will undercut nearly every other seller out there. According to my sources, it will be exclusively sold by those approved by the creator, which means that the cartels either need to gain said approval or come up with their own alternative. A cleaner high that costs less will be like catnip to every addict that side of the Atlantic. It could change the face of the underworld forever, and not necessarily for the better.” Copley turned to the others, looking up from his screen.

“Your mission is this: stop this shipment from going out, at whatever cost. Destroy it and the lab it’s being made in. If you can delay the distribution of this new drug, it will give the various intelligence and drug agencies of the world time to prepare. They only received word of this new development within the last three months, which is nowhere near enough time to prepare a strategy for dealing with the fallout. The netherworld of the American cartels has remained fairly predictable for the last few decades. This could destroy every plan every agency has and set their progress back by at least five years. If you can buy them this time, it could save countless lives.”

The five immortals took a few moments to process this information, each mulling over the mission in their own way. Nicky and Joe shared a look, speaking in a silent language all their own. Nicky would no doubt be for this undertaking; any chance to prevent the loss of life was a worthy cause in his opinion. Joe would not be far behind his husband in his decision, especially since this seemed like a fairly standard case of infiltrate, destroy, and get the fuck out. They had been on much more complicated expeditions over their long lives, and this would probably be as simple as a walk in the park.

In the ten years since they had acquired a new immortal, the two had continued on much as they had for the past one thousand years. Theirs was a love that would never fail, and they clung to it like the last flickering light in the darkness of the world, ignoring the harsher realities of their lives. They tried not to dwell on the past, instead focusing on Nile and the future. This would be good for them all, a good practice adventure for their newest sister. They would say yes.

Andy and Quynh shared their own look, one that wasn’t quite so much a conversation as a brief check-in. They had regained much of the ease they once had before Quynh’s tragic loss, although there were still many times where the weight of their years apart would overwhelm them. Healing was a slow process, even though they both now had all the time in the world for it. It had been perhaps the greatest gift in all of her existence when Andy had stepped into the path of a bullet for a small child on a rescue mission, felt the life leave her body, and had woken up not a minute later in the arms of her lover, the bullet falling from her chest as the wound closed up like it had never existed.

They had no idea why her immortality had returned, although they had their guesses. Like many things in the time since Quynh had returned to her, Andy had stopped questioning it, choosing instead to simply be thankful for the gift of time that had been given to her once again. So, while the two of them still sometimes clashed over the smallest of things, and Quynh’s resentment tore like a jagged knife against Andy’s oft-resurfacing nihilism, the two could read the looks of approval in each other’s eyes. They would both say yes.

Nile, of course, had no issues with this venture. She liked it when they could return to her homeland, even though to this day she had refused to go back to Chicago. It would hurt too much to go back home, and the chances of running into her birth family were too high. After the disaster that was Booker’s introduction into mortality, they had all agreed that it would be better for Nile to cut herself off completely from her mother and brother. Better to let them think her dead and gone forever. It hurt, and it would probably always hurt, but Nile had their pictures, and they lived in her memories. It would have to be enough. Quynh’s return had distracted her from the initial pain of her losses, the whole team working to reacquaint Quynh with the world and themselves while introducing her to Nile and the new wonders of the modern age. Even a decade later, Nile was learning so many new things every day, and this would be a chance to learn even more while saving lives. She would say yes.

For a brief moment, she thought of Booker, and wondered where he might be. Quynh had said that she had met him, but that he had told her to leave, too drunk on whiskey and self-pity to do much more than snarl at her. Nile had wanted to check on him, but the others had forbidden it, and while she didn’t like it, Nile had wanted to respect their wishes. She had told herself that in a few months, she would call Booker and see how he was doing, but in the meantime, she let herself get distracted by Quynh and the whirlwind of events she brought with her. Time had slipped away from her, as Joe said it often would in her immortal life, and a decade later, it was too late to fulfill her promise to herself.

Nile’s eyes went to the bottom-right corner of the board Copley still kept in his office, the library of their good deeds and the impact they’d had on humanity. All mentions of Booker were kept in this small section, separated from the others, gathering dust as the others ignored the missing person in the bigger picture. Nile sometimes saw new articles appearing there, clippings of a descendant of someone Booker saved doing something heroic, but those were few and far between. Copley was nothing if not thorough, but even he seemed to be avoiding the topic as often as possible. Eight years ago, Nile had asked him if he still kept tabs on Booker, and his answer had surprised her.

 _“Yes, I do. Or well, I_ did _.” He avoided Nile’s eyes, straightening a picture of Andy standing with a group of freedom fighters._

 _“What do you mean,_ did _?” She’d pushed, peripherally aware that the others were listening in, even if they didn’t outwardly appear to be._

_“Not long after Quynh resurfaced, he disappeared off the face of the earth. One would think that’s impossible to disappear in this day and age, and usually one would be right.”_

_“…But?”_

_“But…well, you see this article here?” Copley indicated a small newspaper clipping in Booker’s corner. It detailed a fire in an old apartment building in Paris. “This was his last known location. Not long after Quynh made contact with him, the entire building was destroyed. Reports say that the blaze was so hot that it would have incinerated any remains, and thus they had no idea if there were any casualties. No one was reported missing, so they assumed that it was abandoned and closed the case. A new building was raised a year later, so now there’s no evidence left either way.”_

_“And he hasn’t shown up at all since?” Nile murmured, her fingertips tracing the outline of the building._

_“Not once. In any other case, I would assume that he was dead, but…well. That is usually an incorrect assumption to make when you lot are involved.” Copley gave her a tired grin._

_“…Okay, then.” Nile had nodded, allowing the conversation to end, and the team had treated Booker as if he were dead ever since. If even Copley couldn’t find him, how could Nile find him? And so, Booker’s corner remained unacknowledged, just like his memory._

Nile was once again brought back to the present by Copley’s singularly British way of interrupting. It never ceased to amuse her that he was ex-CIA, despite being so utterly English in his manners and style. With a grin on her face, she shared a look with the rest of her family before deferring to Andy, letting their fearless leader speak for them as she always had. Andy seemed to give it another moment’s thought, although everyone in the room already knew what her answer would be.

“…All right. We’ll take it. You can bill us after.”

* * *

An hour later, they had the details nailed down to perfection. The shipment was due to leave for Brazil in six days, which would give them plenty of time to cross the Atlantic, get used to the time change, and set up a base of operations. They didn’t have any safehouses in that part of the world, so Copley was arranging for them to have access to an abandoned cabin on the edge of a small town an hour away from the target. A generator would be left for them and the connection to the waterlines would be restored before they got there. They would do their usual post-mission laying low in Phoenix, but having a place to rest immediately before and after a hit was always a good thing. Nicky and Quynh were discussing what weapons to take while Andy and Joe had moved past the briefing entirely, playfully arguing over who had to tell Nicky that Copley’s kitchen was woefully understocked and that he’d need to go grocery shopping if he wanted to make anything that wasn’t toast and jam. Nile hadn’t felt like joining either conversation, so she’d decided to see what Copley was working on now.

Copley looked up from his screen and gave her a smile that she had quickly learned meant that he was incredibly stressed. It struck her as odd, since he hadn’t brought up any other worries besides the drugs lately. His eyes didn’t carry the kind of sadness that meant that he was lost in thoughts of his wife, so Nile figured that this must be something she didn’t know about. She leaned over his shoulder, looking at his computer. There were spreadsheets and secret communiques and scanned notes littering the display in a variety of languages, some of which she didn’t speak yet. Most of them had been translated into English, although quite a few seemed to be in various dialects of Spanish and Portuguese. A handful were in Quebecois and German, while the others were unrecognizable to her. One word stood out among all the rest, though, one that brought up memories of Sunday school lectures and bookmarked Bible passages.

**_Lazarus_**.

“Who’s Lazarus?” Nile murmured, still a bit lost in a memory of a half-remembered sermon.

“ _He_ is the cause of some of the worst headaches I have ever had in my life.” Copley groaned, rubbing at his forehead as if to prevent another one. It didn’t seem to be working.

“What is he?”

“Lazarus is a ghost.” Copley brought up a few more documents to show her. They were lists of bankrupted companies, potential suspects with their names struck through, and locations of remote servers and false leads. “He’s a hacker with enough felonies to his name to put him away for the rest of his life. He deals mostly in information. If you have a secret, Lazarus will find it and take it. His network security is impenetrable and his encryption is impossible to decode. Whenever an agency thinks they have his system figured out, he changes everything. What makes it worse is that the agent always finds out that their information was wrong, and they weren’t even close to the right answer. His skills are unmatched. The only consolation is that he doesn’t seem to be part of any terrorist organizations, but that leaves his allegiances unclear, which is even more concerning.”

Nile sat back in her chair, staring blankly at the screen in front of her. She scrubbed a hand across her face as if to chase away the sympathetic exhaustion she was picking up from Copley. A Millennial to her core, Nile was no slouch in the technology department, but these kinds of things were _way_ beyond her pay grade. You needed some serious dedication, skills, and a complete lack of morals to do what Lazarus did. And on top of that, no one could figure out his motivation. Was it for money? For power? For the hell of it? Every option was worse than the one before it. She finally turned back to Copley, who was scribbling some notes down on a tablet while he let Nile process what he’d just told her.

“So why are you after him? Cybercrime doesn’t seem to be in your wheelhouse.”

“I’m doing a favor for some old colleagues. This is in return for clearing up that incident in Boca Raton three years ago.” Copley gave Nile a pointed look, and she had the good grace to look sheepish.

Boca Raton ’27 featured the showstopping return of a move that the team had teasingly dubbed “The Nile”. Seventeen people had seen her push a man out of a ten-story building and onto the roof of a moving sixteen-wheeler. The cleanup on _that_ particular mess had involved so many favors owed on Copley’s part that she was sure that she’d never hear the end of it. Not wanting to dwell on that clerical nightmare any further, Nile quickly moved the conversation forward.

“So…what do they want you to do? Break the encryption?”

“No. They wanted me to take another look at their research and see if I could find anything they missed. So far, I haven’t found anything. There’s no rhyme or reason to it, and yet, to me, Lazarus doesn’t seem the type of hacker that does these sorts of things just for fun. He doesn’t seem to be interested in anarchy or fame beyond what he needs to achieve his ends, but what those ends _are_ remains a mystery.” Copley sighed, shutting off his computer.

“I’ll come back to it later, I suppose. It’s not like there’s a deadline for it, and so far, it isn’t a life or death situation.” Copley stood, stretching out his aching muscles.

He was getting on in years, his middle age slowly fading into what many would refer to as his “golden years”. Soon enough, he would have to train up a replacement and retire. They hadn’t talked about it yet, but Copley was sure that the subject would come up eventually. Even time-insensitive immortals would start noticing that his hair was going grey and his movements were slowing. Copley had no idea what he would do with himself once he retired, but that was a question for another day. For now, he gave Nile a tired but sincere smile and offered her a hand up, which she graciously accepted.

“Copley, your kitchen is empty.” Nicky’s voice cut through Copley’s musings, and he watched as Nile stifled a laugh.

“Not it!” Quynh grinned, touching her nose in a gesture both childish and old-fashioned. Joe and Andy mimicked her, and Nile realized too late that she had just been forcibly volunteered to go grocery shopping with Nicky. It wasn’t like it was a hard duty, per se, but the man could take literal ages to pick out just the right tomato. You could take the proto-Italian out of Italy, but you couldn’t take the Italy out of the proto-Italian.

“Fine…” Nile grumbled good-naturedly, grinning at Nicky, who graced her with a small smile of his own. Dinner would be a cheerful affair, filled with easy conversation and gentle teasing over good food with pleasant company.

It would be the last pleasant meal they’d enjoy for quite some time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title of this chapter taken from "Momentary Bliss" by Gorillaz.
> 
> You can find my The Old Guard stuff at [comme-un-livre-ouvert.tumblr.com](https://comme-un-livre-ouvert.tumblr.com/)!


	3. A Modern Day Cain (With Impeccable Style)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a simple job. In and out. Destroy the drugs and fade back into the night. Easy.
> 
> They should know by now that life is never that simple, especially when you're immortal.
> 
> The phoenix rises from the ashes, and all that is gold glitters with disdain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Sorry this took so long (well, at least it _felt_ long to me!). It took me a while to perfect this chapter, and I hope it was worth the wait! As always, please let me know what you think. Your comments are the fuel to the fire that is this crazy little fic! 
> 
> You can find the playlist for this story [here](https://comme-un-livre-ouvert.tumblr.com/post/627308699042627584/kill-v-maim-grimes-b-e-h-a-v-e-never-more)!

The dingy little cabin in the middle of the desert isn’t what Nile would call luxury accommodations, but she was fairly certain that it would serve its purpose without the roof collapsing in on their heads. Maybe. Probably.

With T-minus eight hours to go until they needed to be in position to infiltrate the lab, the five immortals had arrived at the structurally dismal excuse for a house and had made themselves at home. True to his word, Copley had arranged for electricity and running water, so at least they could pretend that their situation was livable. Fall in Arizona was warmer than most places above the equator, but out in the desert the sun still baked the earth into something hot and unpleasant. The “mild” heat had seeped its way into the building, making the atmosphere stuffy at best. They had tried to open the windows, despite the security risk it would cause, but they were painted shut by both time and whatever idiot had built this godforsaken cabin. Giving up, they simply settled into the coolest corners of the building and tried to sleep. Joe and Nicky took first watch, followed by Nile, then Andy and Quynh. Two hours before the start of the mission, the two eldest immortals woke the others up from their fitful sleeps. It took less time than usual to suit up and check their weapons, all of them eager to leave the confines of their temporary home. Luckily, it would only be one night spent in this shitty setup, and they would spend the next week in Phoenix in a nice, air conditioned, dustless hotel deep within the city. With this reassuring thought in mind, the team set out into the night.

A black van had been left for them at the airport in Tucson, the keys tucked carefully under the front bumper. It was one of the latest models favored by the military, sturdy and good for off-road driving. Of course, the vehicle being military meant that the interior left something to be desired when it came to space and comfort, but that was what you traded away for the security of knowing that the glass was bulletproof. Andy drove, as usual, with Quynh sitting in the passenger seat, double checking the map of the laboratory Copley had given them. The van’s GPS was top of the line, giving them the option of a 3D map of the terrain around them, as well as the latest satellite images of the road ahead. Andy still opted for the basic map overlay with the route stretching ahead of her like a blue river, but hey, it was an improvement over her distrust of technology just ten years prior. Nile’s influence was being felt in even the smallest details of their lives now, and they were better for it.

In the backseat, Nile was pressed up against the driver’s side door, staring out into the blackness of the Sonoran Desert. There were thousands upon thousands of stars in the sky, and she couldn’t keep her eyes away from them for very long. Having grown up in Chicago, she had been one of the millions of people cut off from the universe by rampant light pollution, so to see the stars like this was a blessing that still hadn’t faded with time. The others had told her stories of how the world used to be, when you could almost see other galaxies due to how clean the air was. Still, to be able to see the distant spheres of light in a way she’d only dreamed of as a girl never failed to fill Nile with a sense of wonder, and if this was all she could get in this post-industrial world, she would take it.

Next to her, Joe gave a small grunt as Nicky reached over him to hand Nile a spare magazine for her rifle. They were packed tight, with Nicky insisting on taking the passenger-side door, as per usual. Nile barely hid a smile as she thought about it. Even here, in a goddamn car of all places, Nicky still tried to put himself between the world and Joe, and Joe let him with the sappiest smile on his face. They truly were sickeningly cute sometimes. Nile took the extra ammo with a nod of thanks, adding it to her stockpile. She heard Nicky double check the scope of his sniper rifle before screwing it back on. He then bowed his head, either in silent contemplation or in prayer, she never quite knew. Joe gave her a smile when he caught her looking, winking at her in that friendly way of his. Nile rolled her eyes fondly, nudging him with her shoulder before turning back to the window. She felt more than saw Joe lean over to press a kiss to Nicky’s cheek, Nicky’s pleased hum nearly lost to the rumbling of the engine.

Outside, the stars continued to waltz across the sky, entirely unconcerned with the fate of five little humans, extraordinary as they may be.

* * *

They left the van tucked away at the foot of the hills northwest of the lab, far enough away to be out of sight of any roving patrols, but close enough for an easy getaway if things went sideways. It took a half an hour to march across the cactus-ridden desert to get within sniper range of the target, their path illuminated only by the stars and the waning moon. Despite the cacti, the land surrounding the lab was flat enough that any light they lit would be seen from miles away. Joe twisted his ankle after tripping on a burrow hidden in the darkness, but it healed fast enough that it didn’t cut into their travel time very much. There were no elevated positions this close to the building, so Nicky had to make a small pile of rocks and his many years of experience to make up for the lack of height. Andy and the others knelt behind the rocks, going over the plan once more as Nicky set up his equipment.

“It’s just the one building, about the size of your standard lab or workshop.” Andy drew an L-shaped box in the dirt, the angles perfect despite the lack of visibility. She drew another box around the first one, indicating the fence. Some X’s marked the lookout towers, four in total. Lastly, she drew lines to indicate the doors and entryways, as well as the suspected interior layout of the lab.

“Since this is just a test shipment, they didn’t need much space. This big room should be where they’re storing the drugs. The rest of the place should be offices or barracks for the guards. Copley said that there will be at least twenty guards, but they won’t exceed fifty. There isn’t enough room for them. We can expect some chemists and other workers. They won’t pose as much of a threat, but they should be eliminated too.” Andy met their eyes, making sure that she was understood.

“Got it, boss.” Nile didn’t like the idea of killing what were essentially civilians, but if they were making these kinds of drugs, they weren’t exactly innocent. (Thoughts of their continued use of drug runners as transportation was kept firmly in the basement of her mind where they belonged.)

“As you say, my love.” Quynh murmured, sending Andy one of her razor-sharp smiles.

“What are we waiting for?” Joe grinned, giving Andy a nod before moving over to Nicky to see if his husband was all set up. He opened his mouth to say something undoubtedly cheeky, but the sound remained frozen in his throat as he registered Nicky’s expression.

“Boss…” Nicky hissed, drawing Andy’s attention away from Quynh. “We’ve got a problem.”

“What is it?” Andy slid over to him, grabbing Joe’s binoculars from off of his vest.

“Look at the guard towers and tell me what you see.” Nicky kept his focus on the perimeter, but even Nile and Quynh could see the tension in his shoulders.

“What do you see?” Quynh whispered, leaning over Andy’s shoulder.

“…There’s no one there.” Andy frowned, handing the binoculars over to Quynh. The archer quickly confirmed Andy’s statement. Nile looked too before giving them back to Joe, who had remained staring at Nicky this entire time.

“Why wouldn’t they have any guards at the gates? The shipment is moving out tomorrow!” Joe processed his thoughts aloud, his eyes pressed to the binoculars. It was true: the perimeter was empty, the guard towers unlit and unoccupied. There were a few floodlights at the corners of the fence, all pointed outward, with a few more lights illuminating the lab itself. There were lights on inside the building, but there was no sign of movement. A few trucks were stationed by the southern gate, while the northern gate had a sixteen-wheeler waiting to be loaded. Its trailer was open, but there was nothing and no one inside. Joe put the binoculars back into their place, his head full of more questions than answers.

“So…what do we do, Andy?” He murmured, absently reaching out to rest his hand on Nicky’s lower back, more to comfort himself than his husband.

“…I don’t like it.” Andy answered after a few moments. “But at the same time, if the drugs really _are_ in there, we can’t let them leave.” She looked around at her team, gauging their reactions.

“We can either bug out now, or we can go in there and see what we can find out. It comes with more risks than rewards at this point, but if you’re willing, we’ll go.” It was left unspoken that an ambush and possible capture was the most likely scenario.

“…I’m with you, boss.” Nile was the first to speak, her faith in Andy as unshakeable as always.

“Of course, Andromache.” Quynh’s whisper followed Nile’s a second later.

Joe looked at Nicky. Nicky turned away from his sights for only the briefest of moments, and his eyes unerringly found Joe’s. The two spoke without words in the time it took Nile to take a breath. Then, Nicky went back to his scope, and Joe turned back to their leader.

“We’re with you, Andy. Always.”

* * *

Once Nicky had determined that there were no patrols that they had missed, the five immortals loaded their weapons (or in Nicky’s case, packed them up and left it hidden among the rocks for retrieval later) and made their silent way to the edge of the perimeter. The building was surrounded by a standard wire fence, with no electricity or alarms attached to the wires. Joe cut through it effortlessly, making a hole large enough for them all to slither through. Andy went first, as always, followed by Quynh, Nicky, Nile, and Joe in the rear. They covered the edge of the lab, splitting up to take each side while leaving Nicky to watch their backs. When they met back up on the western side, which was the longest side of the L-shape, the five grouped themselves around what Copley’s plans had said was the entrance to the manufacturing area.

Nile tested the handle, surprised to find it unlocked. She signaled to Andy, who processed this information with an ever-deepening frown. Andy then tapped Quynh on the shoulder, and the archer knocked an arrow and backed up a few paces, both covering their rear and taking aim at whatever was on the other side of the door. Joe drew his blade, holding it out in front of him as he heard Nicky do the same. They didn’t know what kind of compounds were being kept inside of the lab, and they had learned the hard way that bullets and chemicals were a deadly combination. Nile kept her corporal’s saber in its sheathe for now, instead readying herself to kick down the door. Andy’s faithful labrys was already in her hands as she gave a silent countdown for the youngest warrior. Three…two…one!

With a grunt, Nile kicked the door open before throwing herself to the side, barely keeping her balance on the uneven ground. Andy charged inside, her axe raised above her head. Nicky and Joe burst in after her, and Quynh followed suit once Nile had drawn her saber and followed them inside. It took Quynh nearly impaling Nicky with her arrow for her to realize that they were all gathered together just feet from the entryway, their weapons held tightly but uselessly as they scanned the area. The door swung shut behind them, but the heavy sound did nothing to startle them from their confusion.

The room was empty. What had once been some kind of synthesizing space was now devoid of any and all machinery. All that was left were the indents where the heavy equipment used to sit and some scuff marks leading towards a loading bay on the northern end. The fluorescent bulbs overhead buzzed with electricity, the only “living” thing within earshot. There was a lingering scent of cleaning solutions and something else, probably whatever they had used to make the drugs. None of them were all that familiar with what went into ecstasy, although Nile now had a morbid interest in the subject. She cast a glance over at Andy, noting the confusion and frustration in her leader’s eyes. This mission was going to hell in a handbasket awfully fast.

“…It’s all gone.” Joe whispered, and his voice seemed to finally uproot them from their frozen stances.

As one, they all fanned out across the long room, searching for cameras or clues to what had happened there. As expected, they found nothing except for a few electrical outlets and some damage to the plaster on the walls. There was only one other exit to the room, a swinging door on the southern end leading out into a well-lit hallway. If her mental measurements were correct, Nile guessed that there wasn’t enough room in the hallway to fit twenty guards, although if there were indeed rooms for offices and a barracks, they could simply be lying in wait. Quynh had already positioned herself five paces from the southern door, her arrows ready to fly. Nicky took his place next to his sister, his stance wide and defensive. He would watch Quynh’s back as she watched theirs. Joe exchanged a look with Andy, who jerked her head towards the door. Andy first, as usual, followed by Joe and Nile. Now that they were fairly certain that there were no more drugs in the building, by unspoken agreement the remaining three drew their handguns and rifles, replacing their blades and axes with modern firepower. This could become close quarters combat very quickly, and sabers, labryses, and scimitars required a good amount of swinging room to be effective. Once they were all in place, Andy repeated her silent countdown, Nile kicked the door hard to make it swing wide, and Andy dived into the hall.

Again, it was empty. 

Two rooms were visible on either side of her, their doors missing and the frames battered, like someone had taken a sledgehammer to them. Andy noted that all of the walls were white, giving the place a clinical and sterile feeling. It gave her the creeps. The room on the left had definitely once been a barracks. The tarnished metal frames of a few abandoned cots littered the cramped room, although there were no mattresses or other signs of occupation left behind. The room on the right had probably been an office or extra sleeping space, but it was empty beyond an electrical outlet and what looked like a broken Wi-Fi router. All that remained was the space at the end of the corridor. Andy gave the all clear and slowly made her way down to the end, hearing her team carefully follow her one by one.

The hallway ended in a small space not unlike a waiting room, where a sleek wooden desk sat innocuously in front of a blank white wall. On top of the desk was a small device shaped like silo. It stood only a few inches tall, its surface a matte black. Andy had no idea what it was, but she didn’t take her eyes off of it in case it was a bomb. She felt Nile tap her back before she whispered in Andy’s ear.

“It’s a holographic projector. Not even on the market yet.”

Andy nodded, still keeping her eyes on it. To her right she saw a final door, this one built into the wall the projector was facing. This was definitely an office, then. Quynh gave the all clear. Nile confirmed it. Just as Andy was about to signal for Joe and Nicky to set themselves up to bust the door down, the projector whirred to life. Five different weapons were aimed at it, even Nile’s.

After a mere second, a stream of light poured out from the projector, and a large, almost 3D image appeared on the wall from the ceiling to the just above the desk. It was a woman, or part of her, anyway. She was visible from her nose down to the bottom of her ribs, her hands folded almost placidly on the desk in front of her. Her lips were painted a deep red, her skin was pale, and wisps of dark brown hair fanned out from behind her neck, hanging loose from what one could assume was an updo. The woman wore a fashionable dark green suit with a plunging neckline. Peacock earrings dangled from her ears, their jewel-encrusted feathers spilling down in an elegant sweep. Her lips parted in what would be an extremely pleasant smile…if it weren’t for the fact that it read more as a baring of teeth than as a gentle greeting.

“Please enter through the door to your right. Monsieur Lazare is expecting you.” The woman’s voice was as soft as velvet and as chilling as a nightmare. She gestured towards the door, and after a moment, the projection flickered and faded as the machine shut itself off again.

The five immortals exchanged glances as if checking that this surreal situation was actually happening to them. A million questions ran through their minds, but they knew that they had no time to sit and discuss their next move. As one, four pairs of eyes fell on Andy, who was staring down at the projector as if it had personally offended her. She could feel the weight of their trust fall on her shoulders, and not for the first time, Andy wondered if this was it. Would this be the one trap that they couldn’t escape from? Would their streak of good luck finally end? What if they all die a final time? What if, what if, what if? But Andy was their leader for a reason. She was the oldest. The strongest. The most experienced. The boss. She was responsible for both their triumphs and their failures, but even in the worst of times, she had never led them astray, or so they told her. It was up to her, and her alone, and she didn’t have much time. Another moment passed, and Andy squared her shoulders, facing the door.

“As one.” She looked each of them dead in the eye, knowing that they understood her. They were ready for whatever was behind that door. The five of them had faced down literal armies in the past. What could possibly be worse than that?

Andy stood before the door, waiting for Nile to wrap her hand around the handle. Nile would fling the door open and Andy would charge in. Nicky, Quynh, Nile, and Joe would follow her inside. They would follow her anywhere. They could do this. One last silent countdown.

Three.

Two.

One.

The door flew open, crashing into the wall with a bang as they rushed in, their weapons drawn and their fingers on the trigger. The room was dimly lit and hazy with smoke. Its walls and floor were painted black. Against the wall opposite the door was a large oaken desk, the kind that could cost thousands of dollars. A large wingback office chair sat behind it, facing to their right and obscuring the face of its occupant. As the door closed behind them, the figure raised a cigarette to their lips, drawing deep from the death stick. Their hand reached for a half-empty crystal whiskey glass that sat on the desk, but they paused once their fingers were wrapped around its cool surface. The chair slowly turned around, finally revealing the face of the man sitting lazily within its confines. The room went silent. The immortals could only hear the pounding of their hearts in their ears as Andy felt herself lowering her gun.

“…Booker?”

* * *

It was as if time had frozen for The Guard. Their eyes were wide, as if they were seeing a ghost. Maybe they were. Each of them felt their grips on their weapons loosen as their minds focused on processing the sight before them, observations flitting across their minds like inane babble.

_Well-rested_. Nicky.

 _Sober, despite the drink_. Nile.

 _Savile Row tailoring._ Quynh.

 _Completely unfazed._ Joe.

 _Alive._ Andy.

“ _Quoi_?”

They all watched in horrified awe as Booker looked up from his phone, seemingly surprised before his expression fell again in dispassionate realization. He sighed, the smoke pouring from his lips like dragon’s breath as he leaned back in his chair, his expression morphing into one of complete and utter boredom.

“Oh, it’s you.”

He looked nothing like the man they once knew. His hair was longer now, the undercut having grown out some time ago. The blonde locks were pushed back from his forehead, falling back to reach the top of his collar in an artfully tousled style. His facial hair was well-kept, and the shadows under his eyes were less prominent. He was dressed in a suit the color of expensive wine, with a matching vest, a blood red shirt, and a black tie. Under the desk Quynh could see that he wore black leather boots that were polished and pristine. His style spoke of a man of wealth and taste, while his posture spoke of a man who had better things to do right now.

“Booker, what –” Andy started, but was cut off.

“Not that I’m not happy to see you, which I’m not, I’m afraid there is some business we must discuss.” Booker talked right over her, something he had never dared to do before in his eternal life. It threw the three immortals who had known him the longest for a loop, which kept them from regrouping before he continued on.

“Your little missions are interfering with the work of ten years.” Booker brought the cigarette back to his lips, taking a lazy inhale before blowing out the smoke again. “I’m going to need you to be a little more choosy about what assignments you accept from Copley in the future. If you can’t manage that, I can speak to him myself and ensure that any mission that disrupts my enterprise is taken off the table. Do I make myself clear?”

The absolute disdain and boredom dripping from his voice shook the Guard out of their stupor, their minds now racing a mile a minute to process all that they had heard. Joe and Nicky had the distinct impression that they were being talked down to. Nile felt like she had been called into her boss’ office for her yearly review and been found wanting, like she was too incompetent to handle her job. Quynh was beginning to wonder if she had underestimated the man before her. Andy…Andy didn’t know what to think, and she didn’t have the time to try.

“…Is this a threat?” Joe hissed, his body angling to cover Nicky. Booker laughed.

“No. Call it…a professional courtesy.” His grin was as detached as his tone. “Do. Not. Interfere. Do I make myself clear?”

“Book…” Andy lowered her handgun fully, staring in shock at her former brother.

“Booker is dead. Just like Sebastien is dead.” Another draw from the cigarette, another cloud of smoke.

“Then who are you?” Nicky inquired, his voice steady even though his spine was tingling with how _wrong_ this whole situation was.

“My friends call me Aurélien. You may call me Monsieur Lazare.” The look on Aurélien’s face was as bland as his tone, which only served to put The Guard further on edge.

“…Wait a minute…” Nile murmured, her gaze on his drink, her rifle hanging loosely at her side. She had lowered her weapon completely the moment she saw Aurélien. Something was tugging at the back of her mind. Something she had seen just a few days ago. A name, and the ghost that answered to it.

“Lazare…that’s French for…” She gasped, looking up, directly into Aurélien’s eyes.

“Lazarus!”

For a brief, staggering moment, real emotion flashed across Aurélien’s face: pride, fierce and incandescent. A smile pulled at his lips, his teeth glinting razor-sharp in the dark room, but his eyes…his _eyes_. They were like a shark’s eyes. Dead. Void of all emotion and compassion. He held his grin as he brought the glass to his lips.

“One and the same. Well done, Nile. Well done.” He took a sip, his sneering smile returning as soon as he swallowed. “You wouldn’t believe how few people have ever figured it out. They’re all dead now, of course, but really? I made it so _obvious_.” With a derisive laugh, he set his glass down. Their staredown was broken by Andy’s voice, and he turned back towards the others.

“What is this, Booker? What the fuck are you doing?” Andy demanded, her fingers itching to wrap around the handle of her labrys.

“More good than you’ve ever done.”

The answer was so simple and given so quickly that it startled her into silence once again. Aurélien’s eyes were dark in the dim lighting, his gaze dispassionate. Andy couldn’t find a single shred of familiarity in his stare. The face was the same, but the man underneath it was entirely different. She felt like they were at a stalemate. The silence continued for a few heartbeats longer, then Aurélien sighed, looking back down at his phone as he unlocked it with a swipe of his thumb.

“Well, now that that’s settled, I think our business is over.” He gestured vaguely with the hand holding his drink and his cigarette. “The door is over there.”

The team exchanged bewildered and indignant looks. It seemed that stunned silence was becoming their new normal. They were being dismissed like chastised lackeys, people so beneath Aurélien’s consideration that they didn’t warrant respect or dignity. How dare he treat them this way? They had questions, and they would get their answers. Just like that, the room exploded with noise as they began to talk over each other, demanding a reply that never came.

“Where are the drugs?” Nicky.

“Who are you working for?” Nile.

“Where are the guards?” Quynh.

“Where have you been all this time?” Joe.

“Why are you doing this?” Andy.

When it became obvious that they weren’t going to stop and they definitely weren’t going to leave, Aurélien rolled his eyes, which made them squawk with outrage. He stubbed his cigarette out on the ashtray, the annoyance pouring off of him in waves. Without even looking, he opened a drawer in his desk with a motion so quick and fluid that the other immortals didn’t even see it. By the time they realized that he had moved, it was already too late. All they could do was gasp in horror as Aurélien pulled a gun from his desk. He fired five shots in rapid succession, his aim perfect despite the fact that he was already halfway through turning back to his phone.

The Guard felt something piercing their necks, and they dropped their weapons to grab at their throats as they felt their limbs grow heavy and numb. One by one, they sank to the floor, trying to pull out whatever was attached to their necks. As darkness began creeping in on the edges of their vision, the immortals tried to pull themselves back onto their feet but found that their efforts were futile. Nicky and Joe clawed at the polished floor, each one desperately trying to reach the other. Quynh and Andy were on their backs, their arms refusing to obey their commands. Nile was on her stomach, her vision swimming as whatever was in those bullets dragged her under. Above and behind them, they heard Aurélien’s voice as they began to fade into nothingness.

“Miss Alinari, would you please escort our ‘guests’ out?”

“Of course, Monsieur Lazare.”

Andy dimly registered the voice that answered Aurélien, barely recognizing it as the voice of the woman from the projection. As her eyelids fell shut for the final time, Quynh could have sworn she heard the sound of stiletto heels clicking against the floor, followed by the thudding of combat boots. She tried to turn her head to follow the sound, but the darkness took her, and she knew no more.

* * *

The moon had fled the sky by the time they woke up, and the stars were the only witness to their humiliation.

Slowly, The Guard woke from their forced sleep, finding themselves laid out in a row next to their van. Their weapons were placed next to them, like they were the bodies of fallen warriors waiting for burial. Even Nicky’s sniper rifle had been retrieved from its hiding place and was now resting at his feet. Joe was the first up, helping Nicky to sit up as well. Then he tugged at something on his neck, pulling it out with a wince and a hiss of pain.

“…It’s a tranquilizer dart.” He groaned, shaking the drowsiness from his head.

“That shouldn’t have been enough to take us down.” Nile pulled the dart from her own neck, turning it over. It was a little thing, colored a bright orange for easy identification, with a wickedly sharp needle. She put it in her pocket, knowing that Copley would have the means to have it examined for whatever drug had been in it.

“And yet, it did.” Quynh said quietly in the kind of voice that she only got when she was bested by a clever move in training.

“All of our weapons are here.” Nicky murmured, already up on his feet, Joe standing next to him protectively. “There are tire marks in the sand. They must have brought us here on a truck.”

“It’s less than an hour to sunrise. We need to get moving.” Joe added, offering a hand to Nile to help her up. She took it gratefully.

Andy stood up on her own, brushing the dust off of her face. She looked around, making sure that everyone was there and that they had everything they needed. After a quick sweep of the van to check for explosives and trackers, they all piled in, with Andy at the wheel. They drove off into the fading night, silence hanging like a specter over them. It was only when they had left the laboratory far behind that the silence was broken.

“We’re not going to Phoenix.” Her hands were steady, as was her voice, but anyone who knew her could see how shaken she was. “We’ll get our gear at the safehouse and go straight to the airport. I’ll call Copley as soon as we get there.” Her eyes darted to the rearview mirror, and Nile could see the distress in her eyes. It was frightening. Andy was _never_ scared. Never.

“We’re going back to London. Now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're want to see for yourself what Booker is wearing, his outfit is 100% based on his look from the [2020 Film Independent Spirit Awards](https://miscellaneous-content.s3.amazonaws.com/uploads/bfa/30959/4188258/large_30959_4188258.jpg)!
> 
> Title of this chapter taken from "Modern Day Cain" by I DON'T KNOW HOW BUT THEY FOUND ME.
> 
> You can listen to me scream about The Old Guard at [comme-un-livre-ouvert.tumblr.com](https://comme-un-livre-ouvert.tumblr.com/)!


	4. My Plug In Baby Crucifies My Enemies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team regroups in rainy old England, licking the kind of wounds that can't be treated with a band-aid and disinfectant. 
> 
> Sometimes, when one is lost, one must simply pick a direction and follow it, no matter where it may lead.
> 
> As you charge forward into the future, ignore the warning signs at your own risk. The specter in the room is watching you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back, brave explorers! In tonight's episode, we see a scene that's been in my head since the very beginning of this fic. I hope you like it as much as I do. As always, please leave a comment and let me know what you think! Your enthusiasm is what keeps me going. 
> 
> You can find the playlist for this story [here](https://comme-un-livre-ouvert.tumblr.com/post/627308699042627584/kill-v-maim-grimes-b-e-h-a-v-e-never-more)!

If there was one thing you could count on in England, it was that it was almost always raining somewhere, and today, that somewhere was right over their heads.

Twenty-four hours later found them in Surrey, safely ensconced inside of Copley’s home, the locks checked in triplicate and their weapons close at hand. Despite this now being the safest of their safehouses, none of The Guard felt at ease. Not after what had just happened to them. They had moved the furniture around in Copley’s office, crowding the various chairs and sofas near his desk to give them a better view of his work. The boards that held their various good deeds had been pushed to the back of the room, out of sight for now, to give them more wall space for the extra projectors Copley had set up in their absence. The shades had been drawn, giving the projections a cleaner edge in the controlled light of the office.

Copley was sitting behind his desk, his eyes tired and his posture hunched. It was obvious that he hadn’t slept at all since Andy had called him from their safehouse in Arizona, and since he lacked immortality, the signs of sleep deprivation wouldn’t fade from his face for quite some time. The rest of them weren’t much better, although the outward signifiers of their stress were slowly disappearing, as if they’d never been there at all. Andy leaned against the desk, staring down at Copley’s computer as she drank from a large cup of coffee, while Quynh hovered nearby, sharpening her knives. Nicky and Joe had taken the largest armchair, with Nicky sitting in Joe’s lap. The two were always loathe to be parted after a mission, especially when that mission had gone wrong, and they weren’t about to change their habits now. Nile stood close to the wall, staying just out of reach of the projected images so as not to cover them up or distort them. She stifled a yawn, not wanting to be the one to disturb the tense atmosphere first.

The years and years of evidence collected by Copley’s colleagues didn’t add up to much, in her opinion. She saw the same lists of suspects and targets as before. There were reports from field agents, including a few who had “gone missing” not long after they submitted their findings, and a few blurry photos of suspects, none of which were Booker. She tried to reconcile what little she knew of the man she had left standing on the riverbank with what was now coming to light, but to no avail. The others had rarely talked about him in the decade since then, and most of it was things she already knew. On the walls, the scattered pieces of information began to coalesce into something coherent, various incidents and theories being divided up by time and place of origin. Most of it seemed to be intel from various government agencies, particularly Interpol and the CIA. Any unlabeled snippets were categorized as anonymous tips, most likely originating from Booker’s competitors.

No. Not Booker. _Lazarus_.

It looked like nearly every first world government was after him, as well as a few third world governments and several gangs and terrorist cells. Most wanted him for his skills, although that desire was tempered by several calls for his head, both literally and figuratively. It seemed that even the gravest offenses could be pushed aside for the sake of power. Nile sighed, rubbing her hand across her eyes. She’d been in the military. She knew that most of the things a country did had ulterior motives, motives that often proved to be selfish and self-serving. Despite her lack of years, she wasn’t as naïve as some would believe her to be, and living with The Guard had only further taken away her perceived innocence. Sometimes, it took great evil to achieve great ends. Nile had never felt comfortable with believing that the ends justified the means, but life didn’t always let you be choosy. Sometimes, you just had to do what had to be done, right or wrong, in the name of building a better future. It was what she told herself late at night when a mission had gone wrong (or terribly right) and she could feel the walls closing in on her. Warrior or not, the screams and begging pleas of the dying never really left you.

She was pulled from her exhausted ruminations by the quiet sound of Nicky and Joe murmuring to each other. In the time since she had joined this strange little family, she had taken to them like they were the older brothers she’d never had. She missed her own blood brother something fierce, and while he could never be replaced in her heart, Joe and Nicky had made their own space like it was natural and easy. Maybe it was. She let herself smile before turning back to the projections, leaving them to their whispering, a protective feeling wrapping around her shoulders like a warm blanket on a cold night.

* * *

Miles and miles and miles away from Arizona, far from the scorching sun and harsh desert, deep within the heart of rainy, gloomy England, Joe could still feel the sand digging into his skin. It felt like he had never gotten up from the dirt, like he was still lying there in a neat little row with his family, his beloved by his side. Laid out like corpses in a morgue, their lines straight and precise. It had taken _time_ to arrange them like that. Whoever had done it was making a point. Not that they were dead men walking, no, not that. The point was that they _could_ , that the drug that had put five fast-healing immortals under for what was probably hours was made by them, and it could be used again. It hurt too much to think of who the _them_ really was. Joe knew who it was. He knew. It was a power play, meant to throw them off their game, to make them afraid, to warn them off. _Do not interfere_. Message received, loud and clear. Joe’s hands tightened around Nicky’s hip and knee, pulling him as close as possible. The feeling of sand would pass, as all things did, but when?

Nicky tucked his face into Joe’s neck, breathing him in. He smelled of soap and Nicky’s shampoo, of unscented laundry detergent and the faintest hint of clean sweat. He smelled like Joe, some unidentifiable spice or musk that lingered in Joe’s skin like perfume. Everyone had a singular scent that belonged solely to them, and Nicky knew Joe’s so well that sometimes he thought he’d be able to track his beloved down by scent alone if he were ever truly lost. It was a calming thought, but not enough to calm the restlessness inside of him. Joe was better with words. Nicky was a man of action. It showed in the way he loved, the way he took care of others. Yes, he could shower Joe with pretty words when the time called for it, an eager student of his lover’s masterful orations, but Nicky was just as content to bring his husband his favorite kind of tea and drop a kiss to his temple, knowing that Joe understood the soliloquy hidden in that simple movement. Nicky wasn’t sure that words would calm the tempest within him now, not even if they came from Joe. Still, he knew that they needed to talk this through. Their whole family had been thrown for a loop that none of them had ever expected, and simply marching out the door, sword in hand, was not a viable option…yet. Nicky pressed a kiss to Joe’s skin, allowing himself the smallest of smiles when he felt Joe shiver, not out of fear, but out of desire and love.

“ _Cuore mio_ …” Joe whispered, no more than a breath of air blowing across Nicky’s ear.

“ _Hayati_ …” Nicky replied, the quiet vibration of his words making Joe’s skin tingle.

“The look on his face…it’s as if he wasn’t even _there_!” Joe hissed, forcing himself to stay quiet. He wasn’t ready to talk about this with the others, not yet, but soon he would have no choice. “His eyes were so _dead_ , it was like he didn’t even care that we were right in front of him! And then he pulled a gun on us, simple as you please, and shot us with a drug so powerful that it put us down for hours, my love. Hours! It was like he didn’t care, like…like we had never been a family.”

Nicky was quiet for many long moments, but Joe knew that it was only because he was thinking. His beloved was a quiet man by nature. Joe could feel the wheels turning in his husband’s head, analyzing everything that had happened with a sniper’s precision. Nicky had always had good aim, both in battle and in life, finding the heart of a matter or a person with unerring accuracy. Surely, _he_ could make sense of this thing that made no sense at all to Joe. He _must_.

“…I have no answers for you, my love. Not yet. There is so much to think over. So many things that we thought we did not know but were staring at us the entire time.” Nicky pulled back from Joe’s neck, looking him in the eye while keeping as close as possible. “There must be a reason for this, for all of this, but until then, I…”

Seeing Nicky hesitate nearly broke Joe. His love did not hesitate, not like this. He was an immoveable object, strong and steady, holding them in place when the others threatened to tear themselves apart like the whirlwinds that they were. To see him unsure of himself only served to worry Joe further. He pressed their foreheads together, taking strength and offering it in equal measure.

“All I know is this: that man was not Booker. Not as we knew him. This man wears his face, and shoots us down, and steals secrets from the darkest places, and sells drugs like a crime lord. He is dangerous, but how much, only time will tell.” He kissed Joe’s forehead, a benediction and a comfort. “Whatever the future may hold, we will face it together. As always.”

“As always, _habibi_.” Joe breathed, closing his eyes as he focused on the warmth radiating from his beloved husband, the only surety in a life of uncertainty.

Behind Nicky’s back, Andy cleared her throat, and Nicky let his husband go just enough to turn in his lap. They were soldiers, ancient and battle-hardened, but here, in their safest place, they could allow themselves this small comfort. Their sisters and friend would not judge them, not for this. Nicky leaned back in Joe’s arms, his back straight but his hand clenched over Joe’s around his waist, and together, they listened.

* * *

“What you see before you is the culmination of six years of research, compiled by government agencies around the world. As you can see, it doesn’t amount to much. Now that we know who we are dealing with – at least, to a certain extent – I think we can begin to fill in some of the missing pieces.” Copley sat back in his chair, folding his hands together as if in prayer. Everyone else in the room could tell that he was merely trying to hold off yet another headache.

“I’ve been studying this material for several weeks now. I was repaying a favor owed at the CIA.” He raised an eyebrow at Nile, who shrugged sheepishly. The others took a second to remember Boca Raton, but when they did, they all nodded in agreement. “Initially, the general consensus was that this was the work of several men. How could a single man have so much knowledge? Of course, now we know better. Nine years ago, Lazarus formally introduced himself to the dark web with a hit on Interpol’s mainframe. Strikes on intelligence agencies and governments became his bread and butter, but it soon became apparent that _no one_ could hide from him. If you have a secret, Lazarus will find it.”

Copley tapped his screen, highlighting a few different windows that documented breaches in security at The Hague, the White House, the Pentagon, and MI6. “These are some of his earliest works. We don’t have much else, because unless Lazarus broadcast that he was behind the hit, no one would know it was him. He was that good. About five years ago, he took a few contracts to break through the security of several biochemical firms. I think this is when he discovered the necessary formulas to produce his own version of ecstasy. Until I’ve had more time to look into things and call in a few favors of my own, I can’t even begin to guess where he got the chemists necessary to invent an entirely new formula. I don’t know where he got his money, his men, his weapons, or his workspaces.” He almost absently tapped on a picture of Booker from the 1940’s, bringing it to the front of his screen.

“He’s a ghost. I believe that we are the only ones to know his true identity, and unless you want to broadcast to the world who and what you are, it will have to stay that way. The CIA will ask too many questions. Covering up for Nile was hard enough. That was a single incident that could be explained away as a fluke or a carefully choreographed stunt. Bringing Booker to justice through the normal channels without the world discovering his secrets will be nearly impossible. And…I think he knows it. In fact, I think he’s _counting_ on it. If you try to expose him, you will expose yourselves.”

The room was quiet after Copley’s briefing, the humming of the projectors and the heater acting as little more than white noise in the background. Every eye in the room was on the projections, examining a different piece of information, looking for Booker’s fingerprints in between the lines and images. Copley had scribbled notes on several pages, drawing lines between contacts that Booker had known in his previous life with The Guard and certain events and purchases. Unfortunately, those kinds of connections stopped less than a year after the fire they thought had killed him, and they were left with nothing to go on. Copley was right: if Lazarus didn’t leave his mark on something, it was impossible to tell that he was the one that did it.

Nile stepped forward, taking a closer look at an MI5 report on the collapse of a biochemical engineering company. Stealing corporate secrets wasn’t the worst crime in the world. No one died, and oftentimes, the people suffering from it were the rich CEO’s, who were already corrupt and morally bankrupt. Drugs, though. Drugs caused casualties. Drugs killed, and the making and distributing of them killed too. If Booker’s new drug was causing the _cartels_ to worry, there was more going on here than simply cooking up some ecstasy in a hidden warehouse. Even the oldest of The Guard were familiar with how dangerous and wicked the American cartels are. They’d fought against them a few times since Nile had joined their group, and the experience always left them wishing that they could do more. They were deeply entrenched in the Americas, and it would take more than just five immortals and their mortal handler to dismantle them.

Andy had cautioned Nile against thinking that they could destroy gangs like this. Even if they did demolish the system, there would be a power vacuum left behind, and a new evil would take its place. No, sometimes it was better to deal with the devil you knew. It was a harsh truth, one that Nile had struggled with then and was still struggling with now. Decrying their evils and then turning around and using them to their personal benefit was something Nile was sure she would never get used to, and frankly, she didn’t want to. The hypocrisy of it all ate at her.

She shook her head, taking a deep breath before exhaling her frustrations out. Booker had seemed like a good man, if incredibly depressed and misguided, when she had first met him. What had changed over the last decade? Immortals couldn’t be permanently affected by a head trauma, so that explanation for his personality change went out the window. Nile was fairly certain that a man with Booker’s experience wouldn’t be working for anyone else. Getting caught up in a chain of command where he wasn’t at the top meant that someone could discover his secret and use it against him. So that was a no, too. Had this all been lying just beneath the surface? Were his smiles forced? Had his joking manner with Andy been nothing more than a front? His eyes, expressive in ways that his face refused to be, had seemed so open and honest when he had told her about his family. He had been on the verge of tears while dredging up that old pain in the name of giving Nile her first dose of truth about immortality. She had thought that he was being kind, trying to give her the facts early so she had time to process them and come to terms with her new reality. Had it all been an act? His story was true, the others had confirmed it, but were the emotions real? She felt like she was going around in circles.

“How could we have missed this?”

Nicky’s soft voice broke through the tense silence, and everyone’s eyes turned to him. If Andy was the head, Nicky was the heart. Joe was their vital breath, Quynh their quick hands, and Nile the eager voice. It was Nicky’s steadfast resolve that gave them somewhere stable to rest. In times like these, he spoke rarely, but when he did, they stopped to listen. He would always be listened to, even when the rest of The Guard refused to listen to anyone else.

“For ten years, Sebastien has been alive. He has been alive and we had no idea. The world gets smaller and smaller. It’s so hard for us to keep ourselves secret, and yet, there he was all along.” Nicky’s voice held steady, but it was easy to see how much this revelation was rattling him. “He has spent ten years building a new identity, a new life, and now we know that this new life is one of crime. The how is becoming irrelevant. The question is: what do we do now?”

Joe wanted to wrap Nicky up in his arms and carry him away from this room, this house, this world. He wanted to go back to Malta, where time slowed down into something gentle. He wanted to go back to Jerusalem, where it all began, so he could be as far away from this reality as he could. He wanted so much, but all he could do was rest his forehead against Nicky’s shoulder blade and close his eyes. Nicky’s hand pressed against his, just for a moment, reassuring Joe even when Nicky was so obviously in distress. He heard Andy swear underneath her breath, and the sharp sound of Quynh sharpening her blade started up again.

“We need to know what he’s doing, to start with.” Nile answered. All eyes went to her, except for Joe, who stayed in his hiding place for a few moments longer. When his head came back up, he looked at the projections, staring at a report without reading it.

“We start with what we know about him. Did he have any goals before his exile? Any grudges? Who did he know besides us? What are his patterns, his ways of thinking?” Nile listed off, looking first at Andy, then at Copley. “Anything we can remember. Then we add that to what we know about Lazarus.” She leaned back against the wall, looking at a book resting on the edge of Copley’s desk.

“Lazarus…he picked that name for a reason.” Nile added, fiddling with the end of a braid. “When I realized the connection between Lazarus and Lazare, he seemed… _proud_. Like I’d impressed him. I’m sure that some of the agents that went ‘missing’ are dead because they made a connection between Lazare and Lazarus. That means that there’s something out there with that name on it. Aurélien Lazare. Maybe he uses it in his in-person dealings.”

“You may be right.” Copley turned back to his computer, tapping out notes with a rapidity that a tired man shouldn’t have. “I can call in those favors and see if we can find anything on Aurélien Lazare. His associate, the woman on the wall, you said you heard the name Alinari?”

“Right. She was dressed in high fashion. It looked custom and well-tailored.” Quynh set down her whetstone as she spoke. Ever since she had come back to the surface, Quynh had taken fashion up as a hobby. She had a long memory and an eye for detail, and even as she spoke, she tried to remember what season and designer Alinari’s suit was from.

“Booker’s suit was Savile Row. You should check their record books, then check the records of every major fashion house. If you find Lazare or Alinari, we’ll have a starting point.”

Copley nodded, adding the suggestions to his list.

“Aurélien means golden or gilded in French.” Joe spoke for the first time since their discussion began. Andy wanted to pull him into her arms when she saw the distant look in his eyes. Everyone knew that Joe had considered Booker to be his brother, his best friend. His anger had been the loudest because his pain had been the worst. Nicky caught her eye, gave a minute shake of his head, and turned in Joe’s lap to pull his husband closer. Joe put his head on Nicky’s shoulder, closing his eyes.

“It’s his hair. Sometimes we would joke that his hair was tarnished gold, and if he washed it enough, it would shine.” Joe whispered, for Nicky only, as the others pretended to be engrossed in their work or their thoughts.

“…Lazarus was resurrected by Jesus.” Nicky began, remembering the tale as one of his favorites when he was studying to enter the priesthood. Long before he knew the realities of immortality, he had wondered what it would be like to rise from the dead, brought back by the hand of the Son of God. Now, he knew. He knew all too well.

“Jesus was called to Bethany by Lazarus’ sisters, Martha and Mary. They said that Lazarus was sick, and they begged Jesus to heal him. For reasons only He knew, Jesus tarried, and when He arrived two days later, Lazarus was dead. Then Jesus went to the place where they had buried Lazarus and commanded that it be opened. When it was, he said a prayer and bade Lazarus to come forth, and so Lazarus did, brought back to life by the Son of God.” Nicky sighed, absently stroking the back of Joe’s neck.

“Booker was raised as a Catholic. The revolution changed many things, including France’s view on religion, but he would have been born into the church. We didn’t talk about it much, but sometimes I heard him praying. I never joined him, giving him the space I thought he needed. And Booker always did enjoy a good story, so perhaps he merely enjoys the symbolism of a man who rises from the dead.” Nicky finished, going silent once again.

“If we had seen that name before, maybe we would have made the connection. There are so few of us…” Andy began, but she stopped herself. She knew that they wouldn’t have connected the dots. They’d all thought that Booker was dead. She ran her hand through her hair, smiling wanly at Quynh when her wife raised an eyebrow in question. Andy rolled her shoulders back, coming to a decision. Her military bearing slipped on like a favorite jacket, and her change in demeanor caught the attention of the rest of the room.

“He said it himself: Booker is gone. Whoever the hell Aurélien Lazare is, _he’s_ what we’re dealing with now. We’ll find out what he wants, what he’s doing, and how he’s doing it. And then…and then we put a stop to it. Once and for all.” Andy met everyone’s eyes in turn, her determination written loud and clear in her gaze. She received a nod from all of them, even Joe. She turned back to Copley, who had his fingers hovering over his keyboard, ready to work.

“First, we need everything your colleagues have. Every report, every file, everything. Anything that they even _think_ might be connected to Lazarus. Then, we need to find out what the hell is going on with the cartels, and what Lazarus has to do with it. No one’s a ghost, not even us. There’s something to find in there. There has to be.” Andy preferred fighting over subterfuge and research, but if you’re gonna do a job, you do it right.

Copley nodded, his face grim, and he began typing out commands, bringing up a new window that lead to an encrypted messaging system. He began to write a message to his contacts in the CIA. Quynh grabbed a tablet, searching for the green suit Miss Alinari had worn. Nile decided that she was going to go make herself some coffee first, her gut telling her that this was going to be a long day and an even longer night. Nicky whispered something to Joe, who nodded in response, and the two began slowly disentangling themselves. Their proverbial armor settled into place, and they rose from their seat like warriors preparing to move out from their camp. Andy moved over to the projections, expecting Nicky and Joe to come up behind her any second now. They had a direction now. All that was left was to follow it.

So of course, that’s when everything went to hell. Again.

This was becoming a pattern for them.

* * *

Just as Copley was about to hit send on his message, his computer screen flickered. The projections behind him flickered as well, drawing the attention of the others in the room. Nile paused at the door, Quynh put her tablet down, and Nicky, Joe, and Andy nearly jumped out of their skin, military training be damned. Nothing happened for several agonizing seconds.

Then, a new window appeared. Inside was a video that began playing automatically. It showed the outside of the laboratory they had left behind in Arizona, except this time, there were three trucks outside instead of one. The grainy footage zoomed in as the loading bay doors opened. Several figures entered the building, while one stayed outside and lowered the gates of the closest trucks. In less than a minute, the figures came out again. Some of them were carrying weapons, while others were carrying five bodies and laying them out in the bed of the first and second truck. Three of the five bodies ended up in the bed of the first truck, while the other two were laid out in the second. Nicky swore under his breath, the only outward sign of distress that he gave.

“That’s us.” He leaned forward, his eyes widening almost imperceptibly as he came to another horrific realization. “This footage…it was taken from where I hid my rifle.”

The others swore in various languages, although Quynh remained quiet. Her knife was in her hand, as if she could kill the video through physical means alone. As the trucks started up and moved out into the night, another window appeared, slightly overlapping the first one. This time, it was a report from Interpol, a memo about the last known location of an agent who had disappeared three weeks prior to their Arizona mission. Another window followed that. It was a screenshot of a missing person’s poster showing a man in his mid-30’s. The screenshot had an FBI logo on it, with an annotation stating that he was a suspected drug runner operating out of New Mexico. After this, more windows appeared, one after the other, faster and faster, speeding up until they were popping up too fast for any real information to be gleaned from them.

Wanted posters. Mission reports. Surveillance videos. Invoices. Lists. Data entries. Photos. Memos. Debriefings. Statements. Depositions. Chemical formulas. Topographical maps. Instructions. Orders. Coroner’s reports. Criminal case files.

Every document, every video, every photograph, all of them were dated from the last ten years. The rise of Lazarus, writ large in digital ink, a gospel of sin.

Nile caught a blurry photograph of a man in a black suit, sunglasses obscuring his face, but his dirty blond hair made her think that it was Booker. Andy kept her eyes on a video of a man being shot in an alleyway for as long as possible, instinctively knowing that the shot was fired by the man called Lazarus. Quynh tracked a map of the favelas of Rio de Janeiro until it was hidden away, the bright red X’s scratched across the surface marking where known drug lords had been killed. Nicky’s hand reached for Joe’s as he caught the name on an “invoice” for a shipment of stolen weapons, the word “Lazare” burning into his retinas. Joe squeezed back, holding Nicky’s hand tightly as the police report on the house fire that supposedly killed Booker was covered up by a news segment on that very same fire.

More and more images crowded Copley’s computer screen and the projections, an information overload that threatened to overwhelm them. Everything flew by too quickly to track, and when Copley finally got his wits about him, he found that he couldn’t move his mouse or use the touchscreen. The windows appeared faster and faster…until, suddenly, the power went out.

The entire house went dark, the electric sounds of the computers and the heaters disappearing into nothingness. All was still. No one dared to breathe in the seconds it took for the generators to restart. When the lights flickered back on, Copley’s screen was blank. The black background held nothing, not even the flash of the mouse. The Guard watched as he tried everything to get the screen to work, but to no avail. Just as he opened his mouth to speak, a green cursor appeared in the middle of the screen. A single projector whirred to life, its light beaming down on the wall in front of The Guard. When the light settled, a single word was typed out, a soft, synthetic beeping accompanying every letter, like an old video game from Nile’s childhood.

**Andromache.**

Andy gasped, rearing back, barely avoiding tripping on Nicky and Joe. They were also taken aback, and Quynh hurried over to support her wife. Nile, who had moved away from the door when the images began appearing, came closer, standing by Copley’s desk as she stared at the projection. Andy’s name disappeared, replaced by more words.

**What did I just tell you?**

Their eyes darted around almost frantically, as if Booker would suddenly appear, sliding out of the shadows like a specter. When no one was forthcoming, they turned back to the screen, the glowing words glaring at them like an indictment. Nicky’s eyes looked at the ceiling, trying to find a camera or a listening device. Of course, he found nothing. Joe’s grip on Nicky’s hand tightened as he did the same. They were distracted from their search by the synthetic typing sounds. Each sentence would appear, hold steady for a moment, and then disappear as another was typed out and sent.

**I told you not to interfere.**

**It was a simple request.**

“Can he see us? Can he _hear_ us?” Quynh whispered.

**Yes.**

That one simple word and its implications were terrifying. Nile glanced at Copley, who seemed to have no idea what was going on. He had been in his home this entire time. No one could get in or out without him knowing. Maybe Booker was using the microphone and camera built into the computer.

After a moment, Andy shook herself out of her shock, unwilling to let this simply happen. Her indecision and inaction in Arizona was not a mistake she would make twice. She stepped forward as if challenging the image before her.

“How did you get in here? How did you find us?”

**Andromache, you are disturbingly predictable.**

Andy looked affronted, but she carried on.

“How did you get past Copley’s security systems?”

**Copley is good.**

**I’m better.**

The return of the stunned silences from Arizona was not a welcome one.

Copley pulled out his phone, switching it on, only to find that it too was blank. All of its files had been wiped, and his signal was being jammed. He turned back to the projection, sweat beginning to gather at his brow. When he looked at the others for a brief second, he could see their stoic expressions cracking. He had never seen them this shaken before. To see veritable gods in a state of fright was staggering. The gravity of the situation hit him like a freight train. The Guard had never had to fight one of their own before. Not like this. All that disdain they’d told him about, all the violence he had just seen on his computer screen...he could feel the fear creeping up his spine.

The projection went dark again, the cursor blinking at them accusingly, like he was giving them a moment to process the hidden threat those two words contained. Then, the typing began again.

**What you just saw was the entirety of the evidence of my existence as Lazarus.**

**You will not see it again.**

**When I return this system to you, all of your CIA files will be deleted.**

**Do not attempt to retrieve them.**

**You will not find them.**

**You don’t have the skill.**

The sound of six sharp inhales broke the silence of the room. Copley glanced at the others again. It seemed that the gravity of the situation had hit them too. The callous nature of his last sentence shocked them. Andy had the distinct sense that Booker was smiling viciously when he wrote that. That same razor-sharp, dead-eyed smile he gave Nile barely more than a day ago. She suppressed a shiver. New words appeared on the screen, this time with an air of finality. 

**I will tell you one last time:**

**Do. Not. Interfere.**

**This is your second warning.**

**There will not be a third.**

The six exchanged glances, wary and on edge. Unlike before, when Booker warned them as a so-called “professional courtesy”, this warning was an implicit threat. Of what, they weren’t sure. Plain text couldn’t convey emotions or feelings like the spoken word could, but even with what they hoped was thousands of miles and a computer screen’s worth of distance, they could practically hear the ice dripping from Booker’s lips. If they continued on after this, there would be consequences.

When no more words appeared, The Guard began to think that Booker’s message was over. They turned towards each other, exchanging loaded looks. Just as Andy was about to speak, the beeping struck up again, and they turned back to the projection with wary eyes and tense bodies.

**One more thing.**

**Andromache, would you be so kind as to look at the bookshelf behind you?**

**Third row, to the left of the bookend.**

**Tell me what you see.**

Despite wanting more than anything to ignore Booker’s request, Andy followed his instructions, turning towards the bookshelf behind her. It was an unchanging part of the scenery in Copley’s office. He kept pictures of his wife there, as well as other mementos from his travels, and more recently, from The Guard’s expeditions. She had just been staring at it last week when they first heard about the mission to Arizona. The row was full, save for a small space just beyond the bookend. Normally, a small statuette rested there, a roaring bear that Nile had brought back from California seven years ago. Now, the statuette sat on the opposite side of the shelf, in front of a picture frame. In its place was a book with a dusty orange cover. She recognized it instantly. It had taken her a lot of time and trouble to find it, after all.

“…Don Quixote...”

**Excellent.**

**You remember.**

**Take it down and open it up.**

**There is a passage marked inside.**

**Read it.**

Andy let her feet carry her to the bookshelf, her eyes on the projection and her body on autopilot as she wracked her brain for her memories of the book. Booker had loved it, something about identifying with a man out of time and place. She picked it up, the cover worn smooth by time and use. How had he gotten it in here? To get past Copley and his extensive security measures, his cameras, and his safeguards would take a Herculean effort. It was another message, another point being made, just like the tranquilizer darts and his seemingly effortless hacking of Copley’s system.

**You asked me why.**

**There is your answer.**

**Read it, and remember:**

**Do. Not. Interfere.**

She opened the book, turning her back to the others and the projection. There was a bookmark inside made of stamped leather, only it wasn’t a bookmark: it was a bracelet she had given Booker at the turn of the twentieth century. He had worn it faithfully every day since, repairing it when necessary. She’d last seen it on when he was standing on the banks of the Thames, hugging her goodbye. Tears burned at her eyes, but she fought them back. She would not break. Not now, not where he could see. Not ever, if she could help it. Not again.

The line he meant for her to read was underlined in pencil, so soft and careful that it could only have been done by Booker. He’d loved to annotate books and share them with the others, his own quiet way of sharing his opinions and engaging them in the things he loved. He always kept his marks light, so they could be erased without damaging the text. Like he was never there. Like he wasn’t there now. Andy half-turned back towards the others, her eyes fixed on the page. Distantly, she heard the beeping strike up one last time, but she didn’t look up. The others were looking at the projection, and she already knew what it was going to say. She read it aloud anyway.

**Every man is as Heaven made him, and sometimes a great deal worse.**

The projector’s engine shuddered to a halt, the lights went up, and all was silent once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter was taken from "Plug In Baby" by Muse.
> 
> You can join me in my obsession with The Old Guard at [comme-un-livre-ouvert.tumblr.com](https://comme-un-livre-ouvert.tumblr.com/)!


	5. T-E-A-M-P-S-Y-C-H-O (Team Psycho)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They say that the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again while expecting a different result. 
> 
> The world has gone mad, and moments of clarity are hard to come by. 
> 
> Peacocks are pretty little beasties, but one should never forget that underneath all those feathers lie talons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I'm so sorry this chapter took so long. It's an extra long one, though, so I hope it makes up for the delay! Please note that all the Italian and French come straight from Google Translate, as I speak neither French nor Italian. If you speak these languages and see any glaring errors, please let me know. And please tell me what you think in the comments! Your comments really bolster my spirit when my writing mojo is low. Thank you for waiting!
> 
> (A big thanks to [Thiana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thiana/pseuds/Thiana) for beta-ing my Italian!)
> 
> You can find the playlist for this story [here](https://comme-un-livre-ouvert.tumblr.com/post/627308699042627584/kill-v-maim-grimes-b-e-h-a-v-e-never-more)!

**One Year Later…**

The passage of time was still marked in days and weeks and months and years for Nile Freeman.

She’d only lived to see a little over two and a half decades before her untimely demise and involuntary resurrection. That was barely a drop in the ocean for the other immortals in their merry little band, but for her, it was a literal lifetime. Now, eleven years since her first death in the sands of Afghanistan, Nile still couldn’t grasp how centuries could feel like singular years. A decade had passed the same way it had when she was still mortal: slowly, and with seemingly no end in sight. She felt the weight of each passing day, all twenty-four hours stretching out to their fullest potential and burying her beneath their inescapable weight. Granted, many days passed in the same kind of blur that mortals could achieve during particularly busy times in their lives, but there were just as many long and sluggish stretches where the days had stretched out for miles and miles, driving her this close to crazy. She never saw the others feel the tedious transit of time the way she did, and it was on those days that she found herself wishing that she were centuries older than she was. Maybe then she’d be able to move past the boring and mind-numbing intervals like they were seconds instead of weeks.

Sometimes, in the privacy of her own mind, she wondered if this was how Booker had felt. It was in these moments that she thought she could understand why he had gone mad with it all. She could see why he would do anything and everything to end this slow torture. It was days like this when she wished she could call her mother or talk to her brother, but she never gave in. Sometimes, she wished she had. Instead, she’d find Nicky or Joe and make herself forget. It was better this way, she told herself.

It had to be.

* * *

After three hundred and sixty-five days of chasing their proverbial tails, The Guard found themselves in Copley’s office once again. Coffee flowed like a river, the battered espresso machine standing on the counter in the kitchen like the mountainous source of said river, visited by its acolytes and supplicants at regular intervals. The sun was low in the sky, slowly meandering its way towards sunset as it painted the walls in muted oranges and fading pinks. Copley leaned back from his computer, pulling a microfiber cloth from his pocket to clean his glasses with. Quynh threw darts at the wall, expending some of her caffeine-induced energy while Joe made idle comments about her form. Nicky and Andy sat on the couch, sharing sections of the newspaper like children pulling apart an orange and trading the pieces back and forth. Nile brought in a new round of coffee, passing the various mugs to their owners, having pulled the short straw this time around. Someday, she’d figure out how to balance the tray on one finger like Quynh could, but today was not that day.

It was a perfect facsimile of domesticity. One could almost forget the ghost lingering in the background, its pale eyes boring into their souls from the darkest shadows, its wicked, sardonic grin as mocking as it was terrifying.

One year ago, almost as soon as Lazarus’ warning/threat had disappeared from the wall, Copley had decided that it would be best if they changed locations for the foreseeable future. Copley had taken a few hours to search while the others packed up the necessities and anything of incredible sentimental value that Copley might have. By the end of it, he was the proud owner of a decently sized house in the Lake District. The Guard, plus one mortal, had moved out before the sun could rise, as if they had never been there at all. The house he had shared with his wife in Surrey still stood, mostly untouched and visited weekly by a cleaning crew, but Copley rarely returned to it, and never alone. Losing their ideal (and somewhat literal) home base was a blow they still hadn’t recovered from even a year later.

The new house had three bedrooms and a sofa bed, a kitchen, an office, and a basement. It sat on several acres of land which came with the purchase of the house, giving them plenty of space to train. As luck would have it, the house rested on a small hill, giving them clean sight lines for miles around. On top of that, it was entirely off-grid. Copley set up the most secure Wi-Fi links he could find, running them through several proxies in the hope that Lazarus wouldn’t find them. Knowing Lazarus’ capabilities, though, he had little hope of actually throwing the man off his trail. Still, it made them all feel a little bit better, so he did it anyway. The resident couples had taken over two of the bedrooms, while the last one was given to Copley, since he was the only one living there full-time. Nile got the sofa bed, but it was of the highest quality, and Quynh set up some folding screens to give her some semblance of privacy, so she didn’t complain. She’d slept on far worse far too many times to count since she’d joined them. A sofa bed was a luxury.

Coffee now distributed, Nile leaned the tray up against the wall by the door to be put away later. She sat between Nicky and Andy, inhaling the earthy scent of her drink as the other two immortals began folding the paper and setting it aside. Quynh and Joe took the only remaining seats, which were just two chairs brought up from the dining area of the kitchen. They weren’t comfortable, but they hadn’t gotten to the couch fast enough, so they just had to grin and bear it. Copley hadn’t activated any of his projectors yet, but from her angle on the couch, Nile could see that his screen held a record of the messages they’d received from Lazarus. She sighed, taking a fortifying sip of her coffee, and waited. It was Quynh who spoke first this time.

“Maybe we’re going about this the wrong way.”

 _You think?_ Nile’s mind unhelpfully supplied, but she kept it to herself. Now was not the time.

“What do you mean?” Andy turned to her wife, tilting her head in question.

So far, they had been doing things the way they always had: by confronting it head on. They had spent much of the last year tracking down every lead they could find on Lazarus and Aurélien Lazare, but it was all for nothing. The man really was a ghost. Copley had checked in with the CIA immediately after their move, only to learn that all of their files had disappeared, too. To save themselves the embarrassment, the incident was quickly covered up, and it was as if there had never been an investigation into Lazarus in the first place. Copley managed to find a few copies of the data gathered by the CIA and the other agencies floating around the internet, but he had the nagging suspicion that Lazarus had left those behind on purpose, crumbs to keep them occupied while he remained hidden. The information on Aurélien Lazare was even more spotty, with his signature only appearing on a few receipts for high end hotels and restaurants, as well as a few shops on Savile Row. Yet more crumbs that led to nothing. Searching for Alinari brought them nothing, so they discarded it, focusing their efforts on Lazarus’ ice-cold trails.

The team had travelled the world in the last twelve months, searching everywhere from Smolensk to Vaduz, from Bogota to Calgary, from Hyderabad to Sapporo. A sighting in Brisbane would turn out to be months old, the footage altered and the timestamp faked. A signature in a ledger in Addis Ababa would turn out to have been written by a paid impostor. There was a particularly frustrating time in Oaxaca when they were alerted to a safehouse’s alarms being tripped. It was an old safehouse, one that they barely used anymore, but it had held one of Booker’s most treasured collections of rare books. They had rushed to the scene, only to find the books long gone and the whole house covered in a layer of dust. The alarm had been rigged to trip months after the fact, leading them on a wild goose chase. Lazarus’ spectral presence had already caused them to limit the number of old safehouses they used, so losing yet another had forced them to procure an entirely new set of hideouts while they hunted their ghost. The Guard now actively avoided any safehouse Booker had known about, which severely restricted their movements and gave them fewer places to safely go to ground if they needed to.

About a month ago, Andy had decided to try a new tactic. She had marched them all back to Copley’s old home, stood in the middle of the office and demanded that Booker end this game, all but challenging him to show himself. It was a very Andy move, and the others had hoped that it would bring Lazarus out of the shadows. Each had their own reason for wanting to see Lazarus again, ranging from anger to confusion to sheer frustration, and this constant game of cat and mouse was wearing on their psyches. Nile didn’t think it would work, and she had been right.

The lights shut off and the projector roared to life not even an hour after Andy had spoken, her hands tightening their grip on her labrys as the familiar typing began to appear on the wall.

**If you wanted something to come at your beck and call…**

**You should have gotten a dog.**

The power cut again a few seconds after the message appeared, giving them the distinct impression of annoyance and dismissal. Nile was steadily becoming more and more impressed by how Lazarus managed to convey his emotions with one dramatic move after another, but it only seemed to further aggravate her family. The sheer disrespect of it was galling. Andy had thrown her labrys at the offending projector, knocking it from the ceiling with a deafening crash. Nile had barely held in her hysterical laugh, knowing that her morbid fit of humor would only make things worse. The man had style, that was for sure, and when she glanced at Quynh, they’d both raised their eyebrows at each other and nodded. Both of them could appreciate a flair for the dramatic, and Lazarus was certainly delivering. Neither of them brought it up to the others, though, keeping it their own little secret.

Quynh was definitely the most cunning of the group. The others called her a pit viper, and Nile was inclined to agree. Always waiting for the right time to strike before lashing out at incredible speeds. This constant running after a phantom was wearing on the Vietnamese woman. It was counter to her usual tactics, which were almost the complete opposite of Andy’s. While this difference balanced them well, it was clearly causing Quynh some frustration. It seemed that Andy was finally willing to listen to other ideas, if her open expression was anything to go by, and Quynh was seizing the opportunity. Nile, Joe, and Nicky listened and waited, their default mode of living this past year. The youngest had the distinct feeling that the immortal husbands were still reeling from all these revelations, and the constant searching hadn’t given them any time to truly process what was going on. She could relate to that all too well. Nile took another sip of coffee, pulled from her thoughts by Quynh’s soft voice.

“We have been following him like hounds set loose after an elusive quarry. In the great hunts of times gone by, the dogs would always run down their prey because they could last longer, could find their target’s scent even when it was cold, and because they had no other choice. We are not dogs.” Quynh set her coffee cup down on Copley’s desk. “And Lazarus is not prey.”

“…He is a hunter, like us.” Nicky murmured, looking out the window as the sun finally dipped beyond the horizon. “He does not _need_ to run.”

“Precisely. Calling him forth to challenge him did not work because he has no reason to fight us. He just wants us to stay out of his way.” Quynh deftly twirled a dart between her fingers. “Chasing him only makes him go further to ground. He’s had a decade for a head start, and he leaves false trails like leaves fall from the trees. There are too many paths to follow, and by the time we see one to its final end, six more have appeared in its place. We are only wasting our own time. None of these misleading paths were made for us. In fact, I’d wager that he makes them simply out of habit, to keep other hunters off of his trail. His enemies in the underworld, perhaps. We did not even figure into his calculations until we became a nuisance.”

“What about the Oaxaca safehouse?” Nile asked, frowning. She agreed with everything Quynh was saying. Lazarus had said it himself: they were a disruption. They weren’t even a threat, just an irritation.

“I think that was the only time he deliberately misled us. Another one of his ‘points’ being made.” Quynh growled, throwing the dart with pinpoint accuracy at the target on the wall. It hit dead center. “That ‘event’ happened about six months into our chase if I remember correctly. Given the amount of dust in the safehouse, he probably set it up within a month of ‘talking’ to us. It was a declaration of how futile our efforts would be that he didn’t even have to make in person.”

Nicky and Joe exchanged looks from across the room. There was a cool calculation in Nicky’s eyes as he processed Quynh’s words, examining them and acknowledging that they were most likely the truth of the matter. Joe silently followed his husband’s line of thought before nodding his head ever so slightly, a quiet agreement. Andy reached out and took Quynh’s hand, squeezing it reassuringly. The eldest of them all didn’t like it one bit, but the love of her life was a brilliant woman, and Andy wasn’t fool enough to disregard her wisdom.

“As much as I hate to say it, I think you’re right.” Andy sighed, squeezing Quynh’s hand one more time before letting go and running her fingers through her own hair. “Running after him won’t work. Challenging him didn’t work. So, what do you think we should do?” Quynh gave her wife a wicked smile.

“There’s an ancient saying: you can catch more flies with honey than vinegar.” Quynh pulled another dart out of her pocket, examining it idly. “Tell me, my love, if you were out in the cold, what would you want most in the world?”

“…To come inside.” Joe answered, even though he wasn’t the one Quynh had questioned.

“Exactly. From what you tell me, and from what I saw, all Booker wanted was an escape from his pain. So, we call him home. We ask him to meet with us, to discuss his exile, maybe. We’ll show concern, not anger. I can’t help but wonder if all of this is him lashing out, like a child who isn’t being paid enough attention by its mother. So, we give him that attention. We offer him a sweet, not the rod.” Quynh threw the dart again, frowning when it landed slightly off-center.

Nile immediately looked over at Andy, who looked like she was considering the idea with no small amount of trepidation. A glance at Joe and Nicky showed the same hesitation, and Copley had busied himself with tidying up his desk, which was an answer all on its own. Strategically, what Quynh said made sense. Aggression wasn’t working, so maybe gentleness would. The Booker they had left on the banks of the Thames was a broken man, seeking death like it was a hidden treasure. A little bit of kindness would go a long way. Negotiations weren’t their usual fare, but when your opponent was just like you, an immortal who could never truly be defeated, you did what you had to do. That didn’t mean that Nile liked it, not one bit.

Over the last eleven years, Nile had watched her new family with hawk-like eyes. She liked to think that she knew them well by now. She knew how they worked, what they liked, what they hated, and most importantly, what was in their hearts. They were all capable of immense strength and righteous fury, true, but inside of each of them was a well of love so deep that it made her ache. Even Quynh was capable of such kindness, although she seemed to reserve it only for the men and women in this room alone.

Andy had a sense of justice that could not be bent or broken. Her moral code allowed for so much, but in the end, it was all for the greater good. Quynh had that same sense of justice, but she subscribed to the philosophy of the ends justify the means on a much deeper level than Andy did. They would do whatever it took to protect the world and the ones they loved. Nile admired that in them, but she was wary of the kinds of moral compromises the eldest two would make.

Nicky and Joe were somewhere in the middle, balancing an ironclad sense of justice with a set of morals that they rarely allowed to be broken. Nile figured that their continued adherence to their religions might have something to do with it. Nicky might be something of a “lapsed” Catholic, and Joe might not practice every single tenet of Islam, but they were both men who had been shaped by their faiths, much like Nile was. It was part of why she found them the easiest to relate to. Andy didn’t believe in god, and neither did Quynh. Sometimes, when the world had no rhyme or reason in her eyes, Nile would sit up with Nicky all night and discuss the Bible, or she’d spend the day wandering the streets with Joe, debating Muslim philosophy against Christian teachings. They gave her insights that no one else could, reaffirming her faith while giving her the space to explore and question. It was something she would forever be grateful for.

She watched Nicky and Joe have another one of their silent conversations, their eyes speaking volumes across the small distance that separated them. There was that ever-present look of overwhelmed confusion that they had worn like cloaks ever since Lazarus had sat behind his desk and dismissed them like they meant nothing to him. She also caught glimpses of that tired anger from Booker’s betrayal warring with an aching sadness that spoke of just how much they missed their brother and their friend. The fire had left no room for resolution, Nile believed. Sudden, inexplicable, nonsensical deaths rarely did. Soon, she would have to pull her brothers aside and sit them down and make them talk. They looked like they needed it. They had never allowed themselves to truly grieve, burying their feelings and allowing them to fester and spoil. Nile knew what it was like, to mourn the death of someone so dearly loved. At first, she had wanted nothing more than to act like nothing had happened, denying it with every breath. It was easier to just pretend that the pain wasn’t there, but it wasn’t healthy.

This wasn’t healthy either, she thought, catching Joe’s eye. Calling Lazarus and offering him an olive branch that was really a knife in disguise would only make things worse. Nile didn’t think for one second that Lazarus was truly evil, not even now, with the “proof” laid out before her very eyes. There was more to this than they knew. She could feel it. Yes, drug running wasn’t exactly the most moral of occupations, and she would not stand for the innocent getting hurt, but her mind kept flashing back to the pride in Lazarus’ eyes when she figured out the connection between his names. It was like he was encouraging her to dig deeper, to figure him out. They had only known each other for a few days. They held no ill will towards each other, not really. After the Merrick incident, Nile had wanted to let him off with an apology and a chance to do better. Andy had made sure to tell Booker that. Maybe Lazarus remembered this. Maybe not.

It was all too much, too confusing, too painful. Nile held Joe’s gaze, her disapproval shining brightly over the rim of her mug. She drank a mouthful of lukewarm coffee when Joe finally nodded and looked back at Nicky. Nile would do what they thought was best, but she wouldn’t like it. She knew she’d be outvoted anyway. She would wait, having learned patience at the hand of masters. She would wait…and then she would act, on her own, if need be.

“…All right. We’ll call him home, but we won’t lie to him.” Andy declared, knocking back the rest of her coffee before setting the empty cup back down on the table. “We’ll send a message out into the ether, asking him to come to the Barcelona safehouse. It’s neutral ground, and he knows where it is. It’s in the city, so he can’t start a large-scale fight without everyone knowing about it. The house is spacious enough that we’ll have room to maneuver if he _does_ come ready to fight, and there’s a basement in case…in case we have to take him prisoner.”

“What do you want the message to say?” Copley asking, picking up a pen for his tablet.

“‘Booker. Meet us in the old family home in the sacred place. We want to talk. We miss you.’” Andy sighed, leaning forward to take her wife’s hand again when it was offered. Every word she said was the truth. She _did_ miss him, and she _did_ want to talk, but she had the feeling that she would be talking to Lazarus, not Booker. Lazarus had looked her in the eye and told her that Booker was dead. She was beginning to believe him.

“Will he understand that?” Copley began typing out the message, sending it through several VPNs to the network he’d left intact at the Surrey house. He was certain that Lazarus was still monitoring that location, so he’d get the message eventually.

“Yes. The safehouse is in Gràcia, near the Basílica de la Sagrada Família.” Nicky answered, standing up and gathering everyone’s empty cups. “He’s owned it since the turn of the 19th century. He’ll know what we mean.”

“Very well. I’ve sent it out. Now all that’s left is to get you some tickets to Barcelona. When do you want to leave?” Copley handed his cup to Nicky with a grateful smile.

“Tomorrow. We don’t want to miss him.” Quynh picked up another dart once Nicky had taken her mug. “He might be in Europe right now. If he gets there before us, he could set up another trap.”

“Tomorrow it is, then.”

“Thank you, Copley.” Quynh gave him a warm smile before turning back to the target. Her arm reared back, and she threw the dart with an easy grace. Nile watched it sail through the air in a perfect arc.

It missed the target entirely.

* * *

Barcelona in October was a warm affair, sultry but not steamy, and the nights were cool enough that a jacket tended to be more of a necessity than an accessory. The last decade had taken them to Spain sparingly, but Nile was comfortable enough with both the language and the places that the streets felt recognizable instead of strange and foreign. She knew that someday, the world would become a very small place indeed, but for now, it was still so wide and wonderful that being familiar with a place she had never dreamed of being able to see was still a novelty. The noonday sun beat down on them as they crossed the threshold of the Barcelona safehouse, and the cool interior was a welcome respite from the heat.

The front door opened into a small foyer, the stairs up to the second level directly in front of them. Nile remembered that there were three bedrooms, and if they decided to stay for a while, she was looking forward to having a room of her own. To their left, the townhouse opened up into a living room, with the dining room and the kitchen beyond that. The small “backyard” was really just a little square of green grass and a small tree; the real treasure was the screened-in porch that was accessible through the den. Overall, it was one of their more homey hideouts. It was the perfect setting for a gentle reconciliation, with its sense of security and warmth. Hopefully, the meeting _would_ lead to a reconciliation, but she had the sinking feeling that this plan, like all the others so far, would fail. Nile suppressed a shiver, wondering if the tiles would be stained with blood instead of spilled wine when Lazarus finally arrived. She headed upstairs to put her bags away, followed by Nicky and Joe.

Around thirty minutes later, The Guard found themselves sitting around the dining table, various drinks and empty plates scattered across its wooden surface. Their conversation was quiet, the apprehensive mood looming over them like a raincloud. They had no way of knowing when Lazarus would arrive, or if he’d even gotten their message. So far, they had heard nothing from Copley, although Joe had sent him a text letting him know they were there safely. A quick search of the townhouse found no traps. The only sign of Booker owning the place was the presence of a few rare books, but they were not so rare that Lazarus would go out of his way to get them. Nicky had prepared tea and a light lunch, the smell of shakshuka lingering in the air as Andy and Quynh got up and cleared the plates.

They had just sat down again, cups refilled with various forms of tea, when a staccato series of knocks followed by the ringing of the doorbell broke the strained silence. All of them froze at the sound of a secret sequence of knocks they used to identify themselves before coming in. Nile was unfamiliar with it, as was Quynh, but the others knew that the short burst of four taps, followed by two slow knocks, two slow knocks, and two fast taps was Booker’s signature. It was his version of La Marseillaise, and he had always laughed at how on the nose the joke was.

Joe was the first to break from him hesitation. He stood up, resolute despite his unease, squeezing Nicky’s hand as his husband offered him his silent strength. Then he headed for the door, his steps even and measured. He heard the others rise from their seats and follow him to the living room, weapons at the ready but hidden from view. This was supposed to be a peaceful meeting, after all. When he got to the door, Joe paused for a moment, breathing deeply. Without giving himself time to psych himself out of it, he opened the door.

Before him stood one of the most striking women he’d ever seen, and he’d known Andromache for a thousand years. She was slightly above average height, made taller by her stiletto heels. Her skin was pale, but as he looked closer, he could see a light smattering of freckles peeking out from beneath her bangs and her designer sunglasses. Her hair was dark, pulled back in a bun with wisps of hair artfully falling around her face, giving her a polished but carefree air. She wore a black dress that went down to her knees, the collar resting just below her neck, and over it was a black suit jacket with lace trimming at the end of the sleeves. Peacock feather earrings dangled from her ears, the feathers made of sterling silver and studded with shining crystals in blues and greens and golds. Her nails were painted black on both her hands and her feet, matching the clothes she wore. In her arms, she held a tablet in a leather case.

“ _Buongiorno_ , s _ignore._ ” A smooth, velvet voice danced through the air, soft enough to caress and strong enough to be heard over the rushing in his ears. “ _Sono qui per quanto riguarda il Signor Lazare. Posso entrare?_ ”

He glanced at Andy, who nodded and gestured for him to let her in. As he moved to let her step inside, she smiled at him with lips painted the darkest shade of red. When she pulled her sunglasses off, Joe was met with piercing blue eyes rimmed in kohl, the dark circles underneath them lightened by her foundation. He carefully closed the door behind her, and the sounds of the street were cut off. It took him a moment, but he realized why she seemed so familiar. He should have realized it sooner, but he didn’t think anyone would blame him. A hologram rarely did anyone any justice.

“You’re the woman from the laboratory.” Joe murmured, almost to himself, but she was so close that she heard him anyway.

“Indeed I am.” The woman purred as she switched to a charmingly lilting English. His mind placed her accent as Roman, although it was altered by some other accent or language, one he couldn’t place yet.

“I am Chiara Alinari. You may call me Miss Alinari, or just Alinari, if you like. You must be Joe.” She offered her hand to Joe, who nodded, took her hand, and shook it carefully.

Miss Alinari looked around expectantly, and it was then that the others made their appearance, their weapons still hidden. Andy stepped forward while Joe stepped back, letting their leader take her rightful place. Alinari turned her smile towards Andy, stepping forward to introduce herself.

“I am Chiara Alinari. I am here regarding your message to Monsieur Lazare. You must be Andy.” Her voice and manner were completely professional, as if this were a business meeting.

“I am.” Andy warily shook her hand, looking her over with careful eyes. When their handshake was broken, Alinari confidently strode over to Quynh, who was the closest of the remaining immortals.

“Quynh, I presume?” Alinari held out her hand again. Quynh ignored it, merely raising an eyebrow. With the barest hint of a shrug, Alinari moved on to Nicky. “Nicky, yes?

“ _Sì_.” Nicky took her hand and offered a nod of his own. To anyone else, Nicky would seem to be only casually interested, but Joe could see the gears turning in Nicky’s brain as he analyzed the newcomer like a hawk on the hunt. “ _Buon pomeriggio._ ”

“ _Grazie._ ” Alinari’s smile widened, like a baring of teeth, but it softened again when she finally turned to Nile. “And you must be Nile. It is a pleasure to finally meet you.”

“…Thank you.” Nile accepted the handshake with grace, although the others could see the confusion in her posture. _Her_ greeting was much warmer than the others, and it didn’t go unnoticed by anyone. Perhaps it was deliberate.

“Come. We can talk at the table.” Nicky took over, deciding that a show of manners might diffuse the tension. He gestured for Miss Alinari to go ahead of him, and she accepted with a smile, her heels clicking against the wooden floor of the living room. They made their way into the dining room, each sitting in the same seats as before, not that Alinari would know this. Her back was to the exit, which was a deliberate placement, but she either didn’t mind or didn’t notice. She set her tablet down on the table, opening it up and taking out a tablet pen.

“ _Vuoi qualcosa da bere?_ ” Nicky asked from the kitchen, getting a clean cup out of the cupboard.

“ _Acqua, per favore._ ” Miss Alinari answered, placing her finger on the power button of her tablet. It read her fingerprint and turned on.

It took only a moment for Nicky to return with a cup and a glass bottle of spring water. It was an Italian brand, one of Joe’s favorites. Miss Alinari accepted it with a grateful smile and her thanks. Nicky sat down and watched her, his head tilted slightly to the side. His reason for giving her the bottle was twofold: the first was that it would give them extra time to gather their thoughts together, and the second was that anyone who ran in criminal circles would know better than to accept an open drink from a potential rival. Glass bottles were harder to tamper with, since it was impossible to inject drugs in like you could with plastic, and the cap was sealed tight to keep the fizz in. It would put her at ease, which would be another point in their favor. He saw Joe’s gaze flicker towards his, a silent sign that his husband approved of the idea.

“Well, now that we are all settled, perhaps we can begin?” Alinari crossed her legs under the table, her posture elegant and poised. When no one spoke, she continued. “Very well, then. I sense that you have…questions.”

“Where is Booker?” Quynh demanded, her voice quiet yet unrelenting.

“You mean Monsieur Lazare?” Alinari’s smile turned sharp, and it felt like the temperature of the room dropped by several degrees.

“Yes, fine. _Lazare._ ” Quynh waved her hand as if dismissing the correction.

“When people wish to speak to Monsieur Lazare, they go through me.” Miss Alinari took a sip of water, setting it down almost daintily when she was done. “Normally, I would ignore a request like this that didn’t come through the proper channels, but you seemed so insistent on meeting with him that I had to come and see what could possibly be so important that you would risk sending an easily decoded message out into the ether. That was very foolish, by the way. Your systems are not as secure as you think.”

Joe was getting the same feeling from Miss Alinari that he did from Lazarus: disdain, apathy, and annoyance. Despite being deep within what could be enemy territory, this unarmed woman sat there like a queen on her throne, talking to the peons like they were bothering her. The fact that _she_ had come to _them_ didn’t seem to matter.

“This was a personal meeting, not business. And you still haven’t answered our question: why didn’t he come himself?” Andy brushed past the insult, wanting answers, not ridicule.

“He has better things to do than come at your beck and call.” Alinari’s voice didn’t change one bit, but the impression of derisive hissing was still there. “As I said before, when people wish to secure an audience with Monsieur Lazare, they come to me. If you wish to make an appointment with him so badly, we can discuss times and dates… _after_ you tell me why you want to see him.”

“Our business with him is private.” Andy glared at the other woman.

“Any business you have with him, you have with me. I cannot decide if your petition is something worth bringing to his attention if you do not tell me what it is.” Alinari spoke like she was admonishing a child, polite but condescending.

“Who are you to decide who he sees and who he doesn’t see?” Quynh growled. “What are you, his secretary?”

Alinari laughed, a deep and sultry sound like velvet and whiskey. It was jarring, and yet, still somewhat pleasing. She leaned back in her chair a bit, her smile turning sardonic.

“I suppose, if you wanted to _vastly_ oversimplify things, then yes, I am his secretary.”

They all knew there was more to it than that. If Lazare was the head of a criminal organization, then anyone who had high enough clearance and access to him to decide his fucking _schedule_ was certainly more than just a glorified secretary. The Guard had dealt with a few groups that tried to call themselves mafiosos or gangsters before, and the hierarchy was similar wherever they went. Alinari did not look like a fighter, and the fact that she spoke of Lazare so casually meant that she was probably some sort of advisor or lieutenant, perhaps even the second-in-command. A public face, the barrier between the rest of the world and the man pulling the strings. Her smile widened again as she saw them mulling over her words, like she was enjoying watching them frantically tear at every new piece of information for the hidden meaning.

“So, are you going to tell me what this is all about?” The Italian woman took another sip of her drink, waiting patiently. “I cleared my schedule for this. I have _all day_.” No one was sure if that was an insult or not, so they decided to ignore it. All eyes turned to Andy.

“We want to talk to him. This whole Lazarus thing…we know this isn’t him. We want to know why. We want to see him. We’re his family.” Andy put as much sincerity into her voice as she could, choosing her words carefully.

Alinari seemed to listen carefully, her gaze focused on Andy. A moment of silence passed. Then, her expression changed, her smile falling into a sneer, her eyes going flinty and cold.

“Yes. Let’s talk about your definition of _family_ , shall we?” Alinari’s head tilted down, just a bit, her glare darkening into something hateful. Nile barely suppressed a shiver.

“Aurélien has very clearly said no to your ‘requests.’ Over and over again. In fact, he would never have contacted you at all if your little mercenary group hadn’t stumbled into a game they had no right trying to play. And yet, here you are, _demanding_ his presence, and when that doesn’t work, you use honeyed words. The thing you seem to forget, Andromache, is that Aurélien _knows_ you. He knows how you work. How you think. How you move. He knows all of you. You think you can appeal to his love for you? His _family_? The same family that left him out in the cold, directionless, alone?” Alinari’s sneer became a snarl. “I would admire your nerve if it didn’t make me want to _crush you_.”

“What the hell do you know about our family!?” Andy half-asked, half-defended. Her muscles were tense, like she was waiting for Alinari to charge at her.

“I know enough. Oh, don’t give me that look. Rest assured that your little secrets are safe with him. Aurélien knows the value of information.” Alinari laughed derisively. “He betrayed you, am I correct? He gave you up to your enemies, seeking an end to his existence. You were caught, you were rescued, and you all lived. You named your penance, and he went off into the world to suffer through it. Half of his lifetime, yes? Long enough to see you dead, Andromache. He accepted it. He learned to live without you, and now that he is thriving, you suddenly want back into his life. And why is that? Is there something you think he can do for you? Is he paying his price the wrong way? You named your punishment, now fucking _follow through_ , and leave him alone. It’s what you’re good at.”

Alinari’s words hung in the air like poisonous fumes when her outburst ended. Until now, she had been graceful and elegant, but now Joe could see that a fire raged beneath her skin, burning away at the cool façade she put on. Her ice-cold eyes burned into Andy’s as she let her words sink in. Slowly, her sneer became a smile once again, but it was a cruel one, all teeth and no charm. Her back straightened, and she no longer looked like a predator waiting to strike. Instead, she became a peacock once again, pretty and elegant and so very far above them.

“Aurélien wanted to ignore this request, but I was curious to see what kind of people you really are. That, and it seemed like the silent treatment was doing nothing to dissuade you.” Miss Alinari looked at all of them in turn, judgement written into her every move.

“Now, normally I am not given to kindness, but you seem to need it badly, so I will give it to you. If you will not listen to Aurélien, then listen to _me_ : you are playing a game you cannot possibly hope to win. Not just with Aurélien, but with the entire underworld. You are not prepared for it, and judging by the way you have behaved, you are too stuck in your ways to be of any use. Keep doing what you do best. Find small, little missions and help people. Go rescue hostages and end skirmishes and steal artifacts back from petty thieves. Those are all very noble pursuits, and I wish you luck with them.” Miss Alinari leaned forward, making sure that they were listening closely.

“Aurélien is a patient man. Indulgent, even, especially when it comes to you. If you were anyone else, you would all be dead by now, buried in some forgotten corner of the world and left to rot. He is forbearing; I am not. I will _ruin_ you. I will make sure that you never receive a contract ever again. I will make it so that you cannot hide. I will make it so that you cannot even _run_. Test me, and you will fail. _Ci capiamo_?”

The Guard exchanged glances while Alinari kept her focus on Andy. Nile kept her face stoic and blank, not wanting to give anything away, but Joe could see the apprehension in the tense line of her shoulders. Nicky shared a look with Quynh, the banked fury obvious to anyone who knew her well. Joe and Nicky let their fingertips brush beneath the table, worry and confusion and indignation and reassurance communicated in a simple touch. Andy refused to break the staredown she was locked into, although she sensed Quynh and Nile looking at her. Alinari’s smile held firm as she barely even blinked, waiting for a yes or a no. The “secretary” was the first to break the silence, laughing quietly as she straightened again.

“No promises, eh? Very well. I appreciate your honesty. I was beginning to think you didn’t have any.” Miss Alinari slipped the tablet’s stylus back into its holder. “There is one more thing, though.” She reached into her jacket, pulling something from the inside pocket.

In a flash, four guns were pointed at Alinari’s head, and Quynh, who had been sitting next to Alinari, had a knife to her throat. It all happened so quickly that Alinari still had her hand in her jacket. The tip of the blade dug into her neck, and after a moment, a thick drop of blood began to drip down her skin.

“Consider your next move carefully, _segretaria_.” Quynh murmured.

When the blade had pressed into her neck, Alinari had frozen, her eyes widening in surprise for a brief second. Slowly, like the trickle of blood sliding down towards her collarbone, a half-crazed smile began to pull at Alinari’s mouth. Nicky could practically _feel_ the madness radiating from Alinari, the delighted laughter spilling from her lips doing nothing to assuage his concern. He had seen this kind of feral attitude from Quynh those first few years after they had all reunited, but it was calmer now. This, though…this was almost frightening. Alinari seemed to lean into it, uncaring of the blood racing to stain her pretty dress. The pout of her lips was mocking, her eyes daring Quynh to press harder.

“Go on. Do it.” Alinari purred, soft as a razor wire. “Do it, or I will never believe any of your threats ever again.”

The two women held themselves in a stalemate, neither moving, breathing hard with restraint from Quynh and excitement from Alinari. It was up to Andy to break the tie, and she did so by lowering her gun, motioning for the others to do the same.

“Quynh, stand down.”

It galled Quynh to step back from her target, but she knew that Andy was right. As much as she wanted to slit Alinari’s pretty little throat, it would do them no good to murder Lazarus’ right-hand woman. He had already proven himself to be a formidable opponent when he was merely annoyed. What was he capable of when he was angry? She wondered how devastating the answer would be.

She stepped away, lowering herself back into her seat, although her knife remained in her hand. Quynh watched as Miss Alinari pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and dabbed at the cut on her neck. With quick, efficient movements, she wiped the blood from her skin like she did this all the time. Joe wondered if she did, marveling at how she managed to keep the blood from staining her skin. She kept the cloth pressed against her wound, her other hand still in her coat pocket. Once she was sure that no one would draw a weapon on her again, Alinari finished pulling out whatever it was that she had risked her life for.

It was an envelope, made from rich, cream-colored paper, the expensive kind reserved for formal events. On the back was a name, written in golden ink, printed in a familiar cursive font. With a graceful flourish, Miss Alinari presented the envelope to Nile.

“For you, _Signorina_ Freeman.” Miss Alinari waited until Nile took the envelope before explaining, watching Nile look it over as if it was going to bite her. “An invitation, from Aurélien. On the bottom of the letter you will find a phone number. When you call it, you will be given a location and a time. Remember it well; you will only be given it once. After your call, the line will be disconnected, and it will be rendered useless. The number is untraceable.” This was said with a glance at the others.

“The invitation is for you alone. Use it whenever you like. Make sure that you are not followed.” Alinari looked away from Nile to glare at the other members of The Guard. “If you do not come alone, you will not be allowed entrance. If you are followed, you will be turned away. If you try to trick us, you will be shot on sight.”

Nile looked up from the envelope, nodding. “I understand, but what is it an invitation for?”

“To gain a new perspective, _Signorina_. There are many paths in this world. Do not limit yourself to the path that was given to you. Sometimes, we find our destinies on the hidden road.” Miss Alinari smiled, mysterious but friendly, and only for Nile. It dropped back into something cold and dispassionate when she picked up her tablet and slipped it back into its case. She stood up, smoothing out her skirt while the others stood as well.

" _Grazie, è stato molto istruttivo parlare con voi._ " Miss Alinari winked at Nicky, laughing when his stoic expression remained unchanged. “Nile, would you see me to the door? _Grazie_.”

Nile frowned, glancing at Andy for approval. When she got the okay, she followed Miss Alinari to the door. This whole situation was throwing her off-kilter, and she wanted nothing more than to sit back down and discuss this with her family. The letter in her hand felt like a stone, the weight of its message fluctuating between being an anchor and a burden. She saw the “secretary” out, returning her smile with a tight nod.

Outside was a black car that hadn’t been there before, and Nile watched as Miss Alinari slid inside. There were no plates on it, and the build was so common that it would be useless to track it down. She watched it leave before finally closing the door. Nile took a calming breath, looking down at the paper in her hands, the message playing in her mind on repeat.

_“My dear Corporal Freeman,_

_How is the immortal life treating you? I expect that you are flourishing. I could see it even then, during that brief time that we met, that you would be the best of us. But even the best can have questions, no? Call me anytime, and I will give you the answers you seek as best as I know them._

_My door is always open for you, Nile._

_Aurélien”_

* * *

“ _Je suis à la maison, mon cher furet!_ ” Chiara called out in a singsong voice as she closed the door behind her.

The hotel Aurélien had picked out this time was the height of luxury. He had secured them the grandest suite they had available on short notice, with two beds, a sitting room, and an exceedingly large bathroom. Aurélien was on the balcony, a glass of bourbon in his hand, enjoying the cool evening breeze as the sun continued to set. She smiled, the expression warm and genuine as she unbuckled her heels and tossed them aside.

Chiara had spent the last few hours sitting in the back of her car as the driver gave her a scenic tour of Barcelona. She had seen it all before, but it was necessary to make sure that they weren’t being followed. When she’d felt that they’d been sufficiently lost in the late afternoon traffic, she had ordered her driver to take her back to her hotel. The nice thing about five-star hotels was that they were discreet, and with the right amount of money, the staff elevator could be used by anyone looking for a little privacy. She looked forward to ordering some room service, sharing an inordinately expensive bottle of wine with Aurélien, and sleeping until she damn well felt like waking up. Two of these three things were doable, and sleeping had never been her strong suit. Chiara sighed, setting her tablet down as Aurélien made his way back into the sitting room.

“ _Bienvenue à nouveau, mon cher paon._ ” Aurélien grinned, setting his glass down as he came closer. French was their favorite shared language, and it flowed as freely as water between the two of them.

“ _I visited your ‘family’, my friend, and I can see why you refused to see them. I feel like I wasted my time, but the invitation was delivered, and hopefully this will give us some peace for a little while._ ” Chiara’s own grin was tired as she poured herself a glass of whiskey.

“ _I hate to say I told you so, my dear, but…_ ” Aurélien laughed as he stopped in front of her. His shirt collar was loosened, his tie long abandoned on the couch. He looked relaxed and carefree, Chiara’s favorite expression on her oldest friend, but it fell in an instant when he saw her neck.

“ _Who did this!?_ ” He growled, rage flaring to life in his eyes even as he kept his hands gentle. Carefully, he took her chin in his hand and tilted her head to the side, examining the small wound that she still bore. It had begun to scab over, but it still stung.

“ _Quynh, the pit viper. Andy stopped her, but it was a close thing. It isn’t important._ ” Chiara shrugged, used to being in mortal danger. It came with the job.

“ _It’s important to_ me _, Chiara. If they had killed you…_ ” Aurélien let his words hang in the air. Chiara knew the depths of his protectiveness, his loyalty, his care. Lazarus was a phantom, and Lazare was a ruthless demon, but Aurélien was good to her.

“ _But they didn’t, and they are beneath our concern. Do not let it trouble you, old man._ ” Chiara laughed, reaching up to pat his cheek. “ _I am alright, and I am here with you. I called their bluff. Let us think of better things. Like dinner._ ”

Her humor had the desired effect, and Aurélien relaxed, his hand moving to cup her cheek instead. They breathed the same air for a moment, their foreheads resting together as they gave each other a moment to center themselves. They had known each other for ten years. It was a warm and resilient thing, the love of your dearest friend. They each had their secrets, but they knew each other’s souls. The level of trust between them was infinite. It was a bond not easily broken. Aurélien took care of Chiara, and Chiara took care of Aurélien. It was as simple as that.

Gently, careful in a way Aurélien only was with her, he tilted her head to the side once again. Chiara closed her eyes, sighing deeply as she finally relaxed. She felt a pair of lips press against the cut on her neck and she shivered at the tenderness of the gesture.

“ _Je suis ici, mon cher. Je ne te quitterai pas._ ” Chiara whispered, smiling when their eyes met again.

“ _Je sais, ma chérie. Je sais._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title taken from "Tantrum" by Ashnikko.
> 
> Chiara Alinari would be played by Vesper Lynd-era [Eva Green](https://i2-prod.mirror.co.uk/incoming/article1356043.ece/ALTERNATES/s1200b/0_Eva-Green-Casino-Royale-Film--2006.jpg) if this was a movie.
> 
> If you want to know what Chiara is wearing, it's this outfit from Carolina Herrera's ['The Night Collection.'](https://lookbook.carolinaherrera.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/11/Shot_145_019-373x560.jpg)
> 
> Translations: 
> 
> _Buongiorno, signore. Sono qui per quanto riguarda il Signor Lazare. Posso entrare?_ \- Good day, sir. I am here regarding Monsieur Lazare. May I come in?  
>  _Sì. Buon pomeriggio._ \- Yes. Good afternoon.  
>  _Grazie._ \- Thank you.  
>  _Vuoi qualcosa da bere?_ \- Would you like something to drink?  
>  _Acqua, per favore._ \- Water, please.  
>  _Ci capiamo?_ \- Do we understand each other?  
>  _Segretaria_ \- Secretary  
>  _Signorina_ \- Miss  
>  _Grazie, è stato molto istruttivo parlare con voi._ \- "Thank you, it was very enlighting talking to you"  
>  _Grazie per il pomeriggio più illuminante e grazie per l'acqua. Vetro, eh? Molto intelligente._ \- Thank you for a most enlightening afternoon, and thank you for the water. Glass, eh? Very clever.  
>  _Je suis à la maison, mon cher furet._ \- I'm home, my dear ferret.  
>  _Bienvenue à nouveau, mon cher paon._ \- Welcome home, my dear peacock.  
>  _Je suis ici, mon cher. Je ne te quitterai pas._ \- I am here, my dear. I will not leave you.  
>  _Je sais, ma chérie. Je sais._ \- I know, my darling. I know. 
> 
> You can watch me fall deeper into love with The Old Guard at [comme-un-livre-ouvert.tumblr.com](https://comme-un-livre-ouvert.tumblr.com/)!


	6. Somewhere In The Belly Of The Beast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Good night. Sleep tight. Don't let the thoughts in your head bite.
> 
> A brief reprieve. A moment of solitude and peace, just the two of them, alone in their room. Here, the walls can come down. Doubts are had. Words are spoken. Hearts are bared. In order for a wound to heal, sometimes, it must be torn open once again. Only then can it be cleaned. 
> 
> Rest up, dear ones. Tomorrow will not be so kind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! I'm sorry for the wait for this chapter, especially since it's not as long as the last one. Some real life shit got in the way, and it took a while to fine tune this chapter. My story outline has gotten some pacing tweaks, but don't you worry! The action picks up again next chapter. In the meantime, enjoy this relatively quiet moment between our two favorite immortal husbands. As always, your comments feed my soul, so please let me know what you think!
> 
> You can find the playlist for this story [here](https://comme-un-livre-ouvert.tumblr.com/post/627308699042627584/kill-v-maim-grimes-b-e-h-a-v-e-never-more)!

There are certain things that can only be said in the dark, certain feelings that dare not show their face in the light of day, and certain conversations that can only hide in the shadows cast by the moonlight.

Night had fallen on the safehouse in Barcelona, blanketing the townhouse in shadows unbroken by the hesitant lamplight. The doors were locked in triplicate, the windows shut tight, and the curtains drawn. Unless one were to look very closely, one could easily assume that the house was empty. No light shone onto the street, save through the smallest of spaces between the curtains and the windowsills. Out on the boulevard, pedestrians and cars made their slow way home as the moon rose higher and higher in the sky. There were precious few stars this deep into the heart of the city, but the few that remained watched the world go by with a distant sort of curiosity. Students, workers, and criminals laughed and shouted with delight as they passed by, a strange mix of humanity only found as midnight approached and went on its way without making a fuss. Despite the lateness of the hour, the city refused to be completely silent, and the breezy night air was broken frequently by the sound of car horns and laughter.

On the second floor, tucked away in their bed, Nicky and Joe twined their arms and bodies together like two pieces of a locket closing together. Tonight, though, their halves refused to fit comfortably. Words lay unspoken between them, little irritating grains of sand trapped in an oyster’s shell, waiting to either be expelled or turned into pearls. The only light in the room came from the candles they had lit, their soft, warm, and ancient light reminding them of the days before electricity. Sometimes, despite their wonder at the marvels of modern life, they longed to return to a time that seemed so much simpler.

Well, not _simple_ , since nothing ever was, but at least it had been a time they understood better. Progress and time moved at an exponential rate these days, leaving them reeling when it felt like every time they turned around, something brand new grabbed at their attention. It seemed like just yesterday that Tesla and Edison were waging their electric war, and now they could suddenly hold the whole world in their pocket, a small square powered by engines unthinkable when their actual ages matched their physical appearances. In a land of confusion, something as innocent as a candle could soothe their souls long enough to give them room to breathe and reflect. They needed that clarity tonight.

Their bedroom was to the right of the stairs. Nile had taken the one directly across from the stairs, which was technically the smallest, although the difference was minimal at best. Andy and Quynh always took the master suite of whatever place they stayed if there was space enough to allow it. The walls were thicker here than many of their other hideouts, affording them a level of privacy rarely achieved when the entire family was crammed together and sharing a space. They knew that if they kept their voices down, the others would never know what they said. A thorough search upon first entering the safehouse had found that there were no bugs, no cameras or listening devices hidden anywhere. It was as if Lazarus was giving them their space, allowing them to rest without fear for the first time in a year. That, or he couldn’t be bothered to wire the place, unwilling to waste his time on them. Both thoughts were ones they did not wish to dwell on, if only because the first one sparked anger and the second one sparked a twisted sort of sorrow. Joe pulled Nicky closer, tucking his lover’s head beneath his chin, and pushed the thought from his mind.

After Miss Alinari’s departure, the immortals had spent the rest of the day talking over the meeting, attacking it from every angle in an attempt to glean some kind of understanding from it. They had talked through dinner and well into the night, only stopping when Nile began to yawn and Copley had begged off the conference call, citing the slight time difference and his age. No one admitted that Nile’s yawning had been pointed, or that Copley’s supposed time difference was barely an hour or two. They had talked themselves into circles by then, and it would do them good to let it lie for a while. Their only conclusions had been that Miss Alinari was a frightening sort of mad that only came from someone who was unafraid of death, that she was probably Lazare’s second-in-command, and that Nile should wait before accepting the “invitation,” if she ever accepted it at all.

They had agreed that seeing Lazare so soon might seem suspicious, even though they knew that Lazare knew that Nile would probably tell them everything that happened anyway. The question of why Nile had been the only one he reached out to had a simple answer: he had no quarrel with her, the woman who had asked for the lightest sentence and who had made them take him with them when they escaped the lab. She was young, like Lazare had been, and perhaps he felt a sort of kinship with her that he had never felt with the others. It was a weakness worth exploiting, Quynh had pointed out. Andy and Copley had agreed. Nicky and Joe had exchanged looks and reserved their judgement. Nile had said nothing, but Joe could see how she seethed at them talking over her like she wasn’t there. Like she was a pawn in the game they were being forced to play. Joe had tried to bring up that very point, but it was around then that Nile had begun to yawn, so he hadn’t had the time to. Still, Nile had sent him a grateful look, so he figured that he remained in her good graces for now.

The lights were extinguished, the dishes washed and put away, and the immortals retreated to their bedrooms for the night. Nicky had lit the candles while Joe turned down the bed, adding an extra blanket on top in deference to the chill in the autumn air. They met halfway, standing at the foot of the bed, stripped down to worn t-shirts and boxer briefs. The silence between them would have been comfortable if not for the weariness in their eyes and the hesitation in their fingertips. Was it comfort they needed? A discussion? Sex? In that moment, Joe was inundated with the need to put their clothes back on, grab their go bags, and run out the door. It was a feeling that overcame him more and more with each passing day. He wanted to take Nicky and disappear for a decade, to run back to Malta and never leave it ever again. He wanted to hide, to build a fortress around them and defend it with all of his might against everything that made them reel with fear and regret. He saw the same desires mirrored in Nicky’s eyes, his love an open book to Joe after all these years.

Nicky’s hands came up to cup Joe’s cheeks, his thumbs caressing Joe’s cheekbones with infinite tenderness. They moved as one, meeting in the middle as always, their lips pressing together in a chaste kiss. Together, they slid into bed, pulling the blankets up to their shoulders as their limbs tried to form the intricate lacework of an embrace. It was only when this normally easy action proved difficult that they realized that sleep was not meant for them tonight, not yet. It was Nicky, ever decisive and to the point, who broke the silence.

“There are things we need to say, aren’t there?” Nicky murmured, so close to his husband that their breaths mingled pleasantly.

“Yes, there are.” Joe sighed, brushing a kiss to Nicky’s lips. He closed his eyes, gathering both his thoughts and his courage.

“We can’t run from this anymore, my love.” Nicky gently stroked Joe’s cheek, offering support and comfort in his own quiet way. “We can’t hide. We must face this head on, together.”

“I don’t even know what we are facing, _habibi_.” Joe growled, frustrated, not with his lover, but with the world. He trusted that Nicky would know the difference.

“We do not need to solve everything all at once, _hayati_. Let us start from the beginning and go from there. One thing at a time.” Nicky smiled softly, waiting for his lover to open his eyes before leaning forward and kissing him.

Joe couldn’t help but smile back at his lover, sighing happily into the kiss. It gave him the strength he needed to focus his mind, to open up a wound that he had thought was scabbed over but was actually still bleeding, slowly festering beneath a hastily wrapped bandage. With a deep breath, he met Nicky’s gaze, finding solace and acceptance in his sea glass eyes. First things first, and the rest will follow.

“He betrayed us.”

Nicky nodded, holding steady beneath Joe’s gaze. He kept quiet, letting Joe talk things out. While he sometimes needed to speak his thoughts into the air to sort through them, Nicky was the kind of man who preferred to sit in quiet contemplation and turn his gaze inwards to find a solution to any given problem. His lover was a different story. Over the centuries, he had learned that Joe was the kind of man who _needed_ to talk things through, to give voice to the turmoil inside of him. Rare indeed were the times that Joe ever came to a solid conclusion in silence. They were a balance of personalities in many ways, and this was one of them. Nicky would let Joe speak his mind, knowing that what Joe felt was often what Nicky felt too. If Joe gave voice to something Nicky disagreed with, or if he missed something entirely, then Nicky would speak. Otherwise, he would wait until Joe’s words ran out before carefully gathering them together and presenting his answer. It had worked for them for centuries, and it would work now.

“He weighed his grief against our lives and found us to be lesser. He sold us out to the first person he found, and for what? An end to his life?” Joe growled, trying to summon the righteous anger he had felt that day back in London over a decade ago. He tried, but he failed. The tension in his muscles drained as he realized that the anger was long gone, replaced by a bone-deep weariness and a lingering sorrow.

“He…He never said anything to us. He never told us that his anguish was so great that he sought a final death. I thought that he was…well, not happy. Booker was never truly happy for very long, but…I thought he was at least at peace with it all. He never said anything. He drank and he laughed with us and he broke bread with us. He came on missions and defended us. He kept us safe and hidden. He did so much for us, and he…he never _said_ _anything_.”

Nicky could see Joe start to repeat himself, and he knew that his lover had come to the end of his thoughts. He let the words hang in the air for a moment, gathering his own thoughts and ordering them precisely. His fingertips traced idle patterns on Joe’s chest as his husband caught his breath, waiting for Nicky to speak.

“…He never said anything, yes…but…to be fair, my love: we never _asked_ him, either.”

Trust Nicky to come straight to the heart of things, Joe thought. A rueful smile pulled at his lips before quickly turning into a grimace. Nicky was right: they had never asked. Communication went both ways. They had just assumed that Booker was fine. _They_ were fine, so why wouldn’t _he_ be fine? Granted, they weren’t perfect by any means, but immortality had given them time to come to terms with their own sorrows. Time that Booker hadn’t had yet. He seemed to fit in so well, adapting to their way of life quickly and efficiently, and that might have been the start of it all. Booker was a forger, able to create something from nothing and make it look like the real thing with pinpoint accuracy. You would never know that you were fooled unless he told you, and he had never told them, because they had never asked.

Joe could spend hours wondering why Booker had felt the need to live a lie with them, to pretend so thoroughly that he was dealing with it. The obvious answers were already swimming to the forefront of his mind: Booker was scared of being alone, Booker desperately needed a family and they were all he had left, Booker was insecure and wanted to fit in, Booker was needed to be loved and changing himself was the only way he had ever found it. Joe only knew bits and pieces of Booker’s history before his first death. The names of his wife and children, where he was born, the first thing he ever forged.

He realized now that Booker had kept his past carefully hidden, and they had let him, figuring that it was just because he couldn’t face his grief just yet. Andy was like Booker in that way, pushing things down and away when they threatened to overwhelm her. Even before Quynh’s loss, she had been like this. A long sigh shuddered out of Joe when he realized that Booker might have simply been mimicking the leader of their group, copying her like a chameleon in order to hide in plain sight. If they loved Andy, then surely, they would love him… _if_ he behaved like her. Joe might be wrong. He hoped he was, but he was also fairly certain that he was on the right track, and it made him ache. He relayed all of this to Nicky, who simply nodded his agreement.

“Sometimes I wondered if Booker was just another forgery, if Sebastien had felt the need to become someone else entirely, so he created a new identity from your name for him. I had thought that it was because he needed that separation from the sorrows of his past, but you might be right, _cuore mio_. Maybe he was simply trying to fit in, to become one of us, so that we would not leave him too.” Nicky closed his eyes, regret written in the tense line of his shoulders.

“And if he could not trust us with his true self, how could he trust us with his grief? His despair?” Joe whispered.

“Perhaps he didn’t ask us because he feared we would not listen.” Nicky looked over Joe’s shoulder, watching as a candle flickered, the wax melting down the side in languid drops. “In a way, he would have been right. We would not have listened. We would have shut him down immediately, killed Copley, put an end to Merrick, and moved on. And then his chance at escape would be gone.”

“He already resented us. ‘What would you know of the weight of all of these years alone,’ he said. As if we had never been by his side.” There was no anger in Joe’s voice, but the lingering hurt was still there. What Booker had said wasn’t fair, but Joe couldn’t deny that the man had believed it to be the truth. It was no excuse, no justification, but reason rarely reared its ugly head when all you could see was death and despair.

“Do you still feel anger when you think of him, my love?” Nicky cut through his thoughts once again, corralling him back into the present. Joe smiled gratefully at him and let out a soft breath.

“No, my light. Not anymore.” Joe let his gaze linger on Nicky’s lips, tracing their soft and sloping lines with his eyes. “I think I stopped being angry before Quynh came back.”

“And now? What do you feel now, _hayati_?”

“ _Hurt_. I’m still hurt that he would do that to us. Hurt that he put us in a situation where _you_ were hurt, my love. If it had only been me, my anger would have disappeared as soon as we were free.” Joe moved his gaze back to Nicky’s eyes. “But now, even the hurt is mostly gone. Now, I mostly feel confusion. Something feels wrong, like I’m missing a piece of the puzzle, but I don’t know which part it belongs to.”

“Or like we have the single piece, but no puzzle to place it in.” Nicky frowned, unsure of which scenario was better.

“Exactly.” Joe laughed, but it was anemic at best. There was little humor to their current situation. “And what about you, my love? What do you feel now?”

“…I was so angry, Yusuf. Angry that you were hurt. That Andy was hurt. That Nile, who was so new and so young, had to rescue us. That he could be so selfish when all we had done was try to love him.”

Unlike Joe, Nicky felt that old anger rise in the back of his throat like bile. There was a deep, hidden well of rage within him, one that he tried to keep closed and locked away. He preferred to be kind when he could, to love instead of hate, but he was only human. When the love of his life was hurt, it burst forth. When his family was in danger, the dam would break. He tried to channel it all into protecting the ones he loved, but that fury was a double-edged sword, and it could hurt the ones he tried to defend as badly as it could hurt their enemies.

Nicky breathed in and held it for a moment. He squared his shoulders, ready to breathe through the rage and tame it once again, only to find that it was already receding without his conscious thought. Like Joe, the anger was replaced with hurt and confusion, along with a deep-seated regret. The need to hurt Booker was replaced with the need to understand him. Self-recriminations flooded his mind. They should have listened. They should have asked. They should have known. They should have seen it. When the fire broke out, they should have looked. When they got to the pub, they should have made him explain. They should have stopped and breathed and let the rage pass through them and leave clarity in its wake. They had been too rash, too quick to judge and punish. Even though they had every right to be furious, they had lived for hundreds and thousands of years. They knew the virtues of being patient, of waiting and listening. In that moment, all they had wanted was to make Booker hurt as much as they did, to cause him the same kind of pain they felt. They were only human, and sometimes, humans could be cruel. They could be vindictive. They could be blinded by rage. They could make mistakes.

Nicky closed his eyes for a brief moment. He pictured a single puzzle piece in his mind. There was so much they could have done differently, but there was no way to go back in time and fix things. All they had was the here and now, as painful as it was.

All he had was Joe, here and now, in his arms, waiting for him to speak. Nicky opened his eyes.

“…Now, though…there is still some anger when I first think of it all. And then, it disappears, replaced with confusion and hurt and worry and regret. I regret so many things, my love, from so many different times. The Crusades. The witch hunts. The Great War. Now, I regret not waiting. I regret not looking for him when we thought he was dead. I regret not giving him a chance to explain. He was wrong, and we needed time, time away from him to tend to our wounds. He needed to know how much he hurt us, but…now I am not so sure that what we did was right.”

“He hurt us.” Joe’s eyes met his.

“He did.” Nicky looked back, never wavering.

“He wanted to die, and he was going to take us with him.”

“He was.”

“He got you hurt.”

“He did. He got you hurt, too, my love.”

“…And yet?”

“…And yet, love of my life, I do not hate him. I love him, and I miss him. I miss my brother. I miss my friend.” Nicky’s breath hitched, his eyes burning as he tried not to cry. Not yet. He had to be strong, for Joe and for himself.

“ _Habibi_ , I miss him too. He was my brother. He _is_ my brother. My best friend. Despite it all, or maybe because of it, I love him still.” Joe murmured, reaching up to stroke his fingers through Nicky’s hair.

“If he were to come back tomorrow, if he were to give up being Lazare and Lazarus…” Nicky squeezed his eyes shut, willing his tears back before opening them again to look at his husband. “If he came to our door and asked to be let in, to come home…?”

“Then I would welcome him back with open arms, my love.” Joe smiled softly. “Would you?”

“In a heartbeat.” Nicky smiled back, trembling slightly. “Not everything would be fixed, but…we could work things out. Together.”

“We are not meant to be alone.” Joe whispered.

“We are not meant to be alone.” Nicky turned his head, pressing a kiss to Joe’s palm.

The room fell silent for a while. Nicky could see his own tears mirrored in Joe’s, and finally, he let himself cry. There were no loud sobs, or hysterics, or even sniffles, really. They did not wish to wake their sisters. They didn’t feel up to answering their questions yet. This moment was for them, and the things they had lost, and the things they had found too late. Their tears mixed as they pressed kiss after kiss to each other’s faces, their lips meeting in an endless stream of comfort and love. The lacework of their embrace began to come together once again. Their arms fell into their proper places, their legs tangling together in a comfortable mess.

The candlelight began to dim as the smaller wicks began to burn out. Only the tallest candles remained by the time their tears had dried, some of them guttering as their flames began to fade into nothingness. The wound had been reopened, but it had also been cleaned. All that was left was to stitch it closed, refresh the bandage, and let it heal. Things would get better now. They could feel it. The clock on their bedside table let them know that it was two hours after midnight, too early for it to truly be the morning, and too late for it to truly be night. The world outside was quieter now, as if giving them a reprieve from the constant changes in their strange world.

Outside, a few valiant stars shone brightly, piercing through the haze settling over the city. Fog rolled in like a cool blanket, covering the night sky in a sea of grey. The two lovers settled into their embrace, their eyelids drooping with exhaustion as they let themselves drift into the ether. Sleep beckoned to them, her graceful hands running through their hair like a mother soothing her children.

All around them lay a gentle quiet, and they knew peace once again.

* * *

And then, almost simultaneously, they had a terrible thought. Their eyes grew wide with fear. The quiet became oppressive. Joe was the first to break it, that restless feeling growing under his skin once again as his fingers dug into Nicky’s arms, desperately clinging to him.

“But what if Booker isn’t there anymore? What if Booker really was just a forgery? What if Sebastien really is lost to us? What if…what if Lazarus is all that remains? What if…”

Nicky looked into Joe’s eyes, seeing his own fears mirrored back at him. The air felt colder now, and the room was too dark. The urge to run reared its ugly head once again, laughing at them in the same mocking tone that Lazare had graced them with as Joe spoke their fears into the night.

“What if he doesn’t _want_ to come back?”

The last candle flickered, tried valiantly to stay alive, and died in a wisp of smoke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title taken from "Various Storms And Saints" by Florence + The Machine.
> 
> You can scream at me about your feelings about these dumb immortals at [comme-un-livre-ouvert.tumblr.com](https://comme-un-livre-ouvert.tumblr.com/)!


	7. Slipping Through The Fingers Of Your Good Intent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two simultaneous events, happening worlds away from each other. Two quiet chats, one friendly, one...not so much.
> 
> What do we do with our ghosts, you ask? That's a good question. Question everything, and maybe you'll get an answer.
> 
> The ghost isn't answering questions right now, though. He's the one asking them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand here it is! The next exciting chapter! Apologies for the long wait. Chapters may have long waits between them now. I _was_ posting them within a week or so of each other, but they'll be spaced out a bit more due to real life circumstances. I hope you will still continue reading though! As always, please comment and tell me what you think!
> 
> You can find the playlist for this story [here](https://comme-un-livre-ouvert.tumblr.com/post/627308699042627584/kill-v-maim-grimes-b-e-h-a-v-e-never-more)!

Nile was only thirty-seven years old and she was already tired of fucking England.

They were back in the Lake District, having hopped on the earliest flight out of Barcelona back to the country where this whole mess started. Well, that wasn’t entirely fair to bonny old England, but Nile wasn’t feeling particularly fair at the moment. She was tired, she was jet-lagged, and she was just about done with everything and everyone. Perhaps sensing her overwhelming grumpiness, the others had let her have the first go at the shower, despite _everyone_ smelling like the stale air that was endemic to economy air travel. Someday she would convince them of the benefits of travelling first class more often, but today was not that day.

Freshly showered, she put on some clean clothes and made her way up to Copley’s office. The others were occupied with cleaning up and resting a bit before the “family meeting” scheduled for after lunch. Nile figured that this was the best time to talk to Copley by herself. It would probably be the _only_ time the others would be occupied enough that her absence wouldn’t be suspicious. Copley practically lived in his office these days, so no one would expect him to be anywhere but there until lunchtime. It all slid together pretty easily, all things considered, and it would be the first easy thing she’d figured out since this whole mess had started.

“Ah, Nile. What can I do for you?” Copley’s tired voice was rough with sleep. He’d been napping when they’d driven up, but by the time they were all out of the car and had their things in their arms or over their shoulders, he was up and making coffee and tea. The man was almost as light a sleeper as Nicky or Andy.

“I wanted to talk, just the two of us.” Nile closed the door, hesitating before deciding not to lock it. Locking it would provoke suspicion. “This doesn’t leave this room.”

“As you wish. What’s wrong?” Copley shut his laptop down, covering a yawn with his hand. Nile pulled a chair over and sat down next to him, the two of them looking at one of Copley’s many boards. This particular one was a record of Booker’s exploits as Lazarus.

“We need to talk about Lazare.”

* * *

“He’s here, sir. Should we bring him in?”

“ _Oui_.”

Aurélien Lazare leaned back in his chair as the little hologram in front of him flickered and faded out of existence. He’d been quietly funding the research laboratories of several holographic imaging companies for the last few years, eager to see what they would come up with next. The latest generation of projectors was shaping up to be something special. He idly wondered if buying a few of the companies would expedite things further, running through the numbers in his head as he waited for his guests to arrive.

He had many offices around the world, but this one was his least favorite. It was a dull thing, a relic of the mid-twentieth century. Stark walls, ugly furniture, dated artwork. Normally, he preferred an elegant mix of modern and antique, something that reeked of ancient power accessorized with contemporary conveniences. Something that gave the impression of an eldritch god that had good taste in surround sound. His lips quirked up in something that could generously be called a dark smile at the thought of being a primordial monstrosity. In a way, he _was_ one. He caught Chiara giving him a questioning look, but he waved it off and let his expression become neutral once again. She gave a shrug so chic that he wondered, not for the first time, if she was secretly French beneath all that angry Italian.

His thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door. Chiara typed a command into her tablet and the door unlocked, swinging open automatically. The lights dimmed as well, giving the room an unsettling feeling. Three men and a woman walked in, dressed in various levels of business attire. One of the men was guided to a chair set directly in front of Lazare, while another stood behind it and slightly to the right. The remaining man moved to the far-right corner of the room, his back to the wall to give him a clean line of sight for the entire area. The woman did the same, moving to the far-left corner. Lazare took a moment to look over the seated man, taking in his worried expression and sweaty brow. His suit was rumpled, suggesting that he’d been manhandled at some point. Lazare’s eyes darted up to the man in the corner, who gave an unrepentant grin, a shrug, and a jaunty salute. It took a great effort for Lazare to _not_ snort with laughter. Instead, he turned his gaze back to the seated man.

“Rodolfo Cervantes. We meet at last.”

* * *

“What about him, exactly?” Copley frowned.

It wasn’t unusual that he and Nile would talk privately about whatever mission was next for The Guard. In fact, they often found themselves talking, just the two of them, about whatever was on their minds. They found a certain camaraderie in being the odd ones out of this group of ancient immortals. Nile didn’t have the history with them yet, and Copley would not live long enough to gain more than what felt like a surface-level relationship with the others. Add that to the tendency of the others to talk over them or forget to explain what was either an in-joke or a past relevant event, and the two of them often found themselves sharing knowing looks from the corners of their eyes. It wasn’t malicious, just forgetful, but that did nothing to lessen the sting. Still, this wasn’t one of their usual chats, so Copley found himself on edge in a way he was becoming frightfully familiar with.

“I’m…” Nile paused, turning her words over in her head. Copley waited patiently.

“Have you ever heard of _Bian Lian_?” Nile began, raising her eyebrow at Copley. When he shook his head, she nodded, looking back at the board. “It’s from China. In Sichuan opera, there are performers who wear masks. Part of the performance is them rapidly changing the masks without anyone seeing them do it, like a quick-change magic trick. I read somewhere that part of the secret is that they wear many layers of masks.” She crossed her leg over her knee, absently picking at a loose thread on her pants.

“They change faces over and over again. Each time you think they’re about to show their real face, they just reveal another mask. It’s mesmerizing. Someday, I want to learn the secret.”

“…You think that Lazare is just a mask, don’t you?” Copley murmured, turning fully towards Nile. She stared at the board for a moment longer before turning towards him.

“Yeah, I do. I’ve been thinking about this ever since we first ran into him in Arizona. There’s been something tugging at the back of my mind this whole time, but we never sat still long enough for me to pull at the thread.” Nile seemed to realize that she was literally pulling on a loose thread, and her hand stilled. “It all comes back to that night in the desert.”

“How so?” Copley prompted. He was already forming his own conclusions in his head, stacking the new puzzle pieces together to see where they would fit. Trust Nile to see things from a different angle. It was what made her such an integral part of the team.

“That whole time we talked to him, the most emotion he showed was disdain and boredom. He didn’t want to be there, and it was obvious. He acted like we were beneath him, like we were unruly subordinates refusing to follow orders. All he wanted to do was give us his message and have us leave. There was only one time that condescending apathy broke.”

“…When you connected Lazare and Lazarus together.” Copley looked back at the board, where the names “Lazare/Lazarus” were boldly printed at the top.

“Yep. Instead of looking like he wanted to be anywhere else, he was focused entirely on me. There was _pride_ in his eyes, James. He looked proud of me, like I’d solved some great mystery he’d laid out for me to find.” Nile’s fingers started picking at the thread again. “It wasn’t even that complex of a puzzle. I already knew some French, and I was raised in the church. I know the name of Lazarus well enough to put two and two together. Honestly, everyone else should have gotten it too, but maybe they just weren’t thinking in French at the time.”

“I’m sure they had other things on their mind.” Copley’s grin was sarcastic. “Like the fact that their wayward brother was now apparently the head of a criminal organization while simultaneously being the world’s most skilled and feared hacker.”

Nile’s laughter was quiet and quick, but sincere. “That might be it.” She sobered up after a second, the loose thread steadily unravelling. “Still. I’ve been thinking about it. Why he was so proud of me. It was simple linguistics. Lazarus and Lazare are only separated by a few letters, and they mean the exact same thing. And then it hit me, just a few days ago: he wasn’t proud of the fact that I connected the two names. He was proud that I was _asking questions_. That I was looking beyond the surface. That I was connecting the dots. He was proud that I could see through him, just for a moment.”

“He was proud that you weren’t taking things at face value. That you weren’t just accepting the easy answer.” Copley’s eyes widened as he looked between her and the board. “He wants _you_ to question him. He wants _you_ to dig deeper.”

“I think so. It just took a goddamn invitation for me to see it.”

* * *

“ _Señor_ Lazare.”

Despite his obvious fear, Cervantes was doing his level best to appear calm and collected. Lazare could admire that, but it would do Cervantes no good. He held Cervantes’ gaze, assessing him now that he could see him face to face. Cervantes might have been handsome once upon a time, but age and hard living hard turned him into something only a mother could love…if he still had one. There was something slimy about him, dark and wicked in a servile kind of way. His surname fit him well in that regard. Lazare pulled a cigarette case out of his pocket, sliding a cigarette out before returning the case to its proper place. He took a lighter out of another pocket and flicked it open, lighting up and inhaling a deep lungful of nicotine and carcinogens.

“I think we both know why you’re here, Rodolfo.”

“Perhaps. Perhaps not.” Cervantes’ voice was gruff and gravelly. Only the slightest of tremors betrayed his uncertainty.

“Oh, don’t even try to play this game with me, _Señor_.” Lazare’s glare was as sharp as his tone. “I gave you an offer that only a fool would refuse, and you proved yourself to be the biggest fool I have dealt with in weeks. Ten million _pesos_ a year, Rodolfo, for unrestricted access to a single strip of warehouses on the docks. Ten million a year for absolutely no work on your part.”

Cervantes said nothing. A wise choice.

“If ten million wasn’t enough for you, you could have had more. I made that very clear in my proposal. You know damn well who I am and what I can do. You could have been very wealthy in exchange for less that a quarter of your holdings. You could have bought out the entirety of Veracruz with that kind of cash. You could have retired, spent the rest of your days with your family in Belize or Brazil in absolute luxury. _Merde_ , you could have simply said no and been on your merry little way! I would have found some other way to get what I wanted. There are plenty of warehouses in these parts, and plenty of other men to make rich beyond compare.” Lazare’s voice went dangerously soft as he leaned forward.

Cervantes bravely held his ground, for all the good it would do him.

“But what did you do instead?” Lazare’s whisper cut through the air like a knife. “You tried to double cross me. Quintana? _Really_? That shitty little excuse for a slum lord couldn’t give you half the money I could. You threw away the chance at a life of luxury because, what? A foreigner was encroaching on your turf? Because you have some shitty loyalty to a system that is dying out faster than you can patch it up? Tell me, Cervantes, was it worth it? This loyalty to the old ways, does it help you sleep at night? Because it didn’t mean anything to Quintana. That little shit sold you out to _me_.”

For the first time, Cervantes’ fear showed on his entire face. He swallowed heavily, his fingers flexing uselessly against the armrests of his chair. The man who had come with him looked at Lazare with wide eyes, nervous and fidgeting. It was obvious that he had no idea what his boss had done, or what had been done to his boss.

“And just where is Quintana now, do you ask? Is he in Belize, living the life you could have had, Cervantes?” Lazare grinned, shark-like, as he laughed. “My dear Miss Alinari, would you care to enlighten the man?” His secretary looked up from her tablet, her lips pulling upwards in a cutting smirk.

“I believe his corpse is currently rotting at the bottom of the Gulf of Mexico, Monsieur Lazare.”

* * *

“Not to sound condescending, but why do you think he want _you_ in particular, Nile?”

Nile tilted her head, looking over at Copley, who met her stare with an unrepentant gaze of his own. She shrugged, conceding that he had a bit of a point. Why did Lazare want _her_ to question him, out of the entire Guard? He had known all of them for centuries. They were older and presumably wiser than her. They knew his tells, his tricks, his everything. She thought back to her _Bian Lian_ metaphor and realized that maybe they didn’t know Lazare as well as they thought. Otherwise, how could they miss the depths of his sadness, his anger? How could they not realize how tortured he was? From what little she had seen of him, Booker had not seemed to be a man who was driven by greed or any other kind of evil. If it wasn’t money or power that he wanted, then the only other reason he had to betray his family was because he saw no other option. He had wanted to die, permanently, by any means necessary. The others had rarely spoken of him, but over time, Nile had gathered that Booker’s grief over his lost family had grown to overshadow his love for his new family.

She understood him, in a way, having suffered through the loss of her father at a young age. There was a saying that no parent should ever have to bury their child, but she knew from experience that burying _anyone_ close to you was its own special kind of hell. Nile couldn’t pretend to understand what it was like to have your children, your own flesh and blood, despise you and curse your name as they died, one by one. She had been spared that pain, and she was grateful for it. Her mother and brother would never know that she was still alive. They would never have time to come to question why she was allowed to linger while they slowly fell prey to the endless march of time. It was a blessing and a curse. Booker had told her that the reason for their immortality was that misery loves company. His words should have been her first warning sign. Everything was clearer in hindsight, not that it did them any good now.

Despite his betrayal, Nile knew that Booker had never been anything but honest with her. He had been the first to tell her the true cost of her newfound immortality. He had let his story be a warning to her, a kindness and a mercy despite the heart-wrenching cruelty of it. She wondered if the others would have softened the blow if they had been the ones to tell her. Would they have wrapped the knife in silk, giving her the truth in a form as pleasing as possible so that she would not become a creature of misery and unhappiness like Booker did? Would Andy have given it to her straight? She couldn’t imagine Nicky or Joe being as brutally honest as Booker was. Nile could never begrudge them their happiness, but their experience with immortality was the exception, not the norm. Nile sighed, looking up at the ceiling as she felt more of the thread between her fingers unravel. The fraying fabric wouldn’t be able to hold onto its shape for much longer. Copley waited patiently, unable to do much else at the moment.

“It could be any number of reasons. I’m fresh. I’m new. I’m from a different time, a more _progressive_ time. Maybe it’s because I remember my family. Maybe it’s because I’m the youngest in more ways than one. We’ll never know for sure until I ask him.” Nile shrugged again, looking over at Copley.

“I’ve seen you with Andy and the others. I see how you question them, how you give your opinion so strongly, how you refuse to go unheard. You’ve been unusually quiet lately, but I can see that it’s only because you’re waiting.” Copley grinned, looking proud in his own way. “Age does not guarantee wisdom. Take it from me.” He laughed self-deprecatingly.

“You’re not _that_ old, Copley. Not even now.” Nile laughed with him.

“Thank you. You’re very kind.” Copley snickered as he dragged his eyes back to the board. “…I think you should go. You should go ask Lazare what he wants, and why. Why you? Why this? Why…everything? I think he’ll answer you, and he’ll be truthful about it, too. Keep the others out of it like he asked. I’m not sure how long it will take them to reach the same conclusions we have, but my gut is telling me that telling them won’t do you much good.”

“You can lead a horse to water…” Nile rolled her eyes.

“Exactly.” Copley nodded, smiling softly. “Whatever you choose, I’ll support you. There is more to Lazare than he’s allowing us to see, and if you’re the one he’ll let past his armor, then I think you should see what lies beneath.”

“Thank you, James.” Nile murmured. Copley smiled. They rarely used his first name, even a decade later, so its inclusion showed the depth of Nile’s sincerity.

The two leaned back in their chairs, content to pass the rest of their time together in idle conversation, feeling settled in a way that had eluded them for a year.

* * *

“Ah! You finally understand the depths of your stupidity. Good.” Lazare’s grin widened, eerie in the deep shadows of the room. “So tell me, _Señor_ , just what should I do with you, hm?”

Cervantes said nothing, shaking with fear.

“No suggestions? Very well then. Miss Alinari? You always come up with such… _interesting_ ideas.” Lazare snickered.

“Well, we’ve already done the cliché ‘concrete shoes’ trick.” Alinari yawned, tapping away at her tablet. “We haven’t done ‘Slit his throat and make it look like an accident’ in a while.”

“That _is_ one of your favorites.” Lazare watched with undisguised glee as Cervantes nearly pissed himself. Cervantes’ associate looked ready to pass out.

“Please, _Señor_ , I’ll do anything! You can have the entire dock, for free!” Cervantes began to beg, sliding off of his chair to kneel like a penitent in church. “The entire empire! My wife, she has connections with Sinaloa, you can have those too! My children, they will be your sworn servants! I’m begging you, _Señor_ , have mercy!”

Lazare stilled. The air in the room seemed to still. An icy chill crept up through Cervantes’ spine as he saw Lazare turn from creepily jovial to coldly furious. Cervantes froze, unsure of what he could have possibly said to enrage him so. He was offering Lazare his entire empire on a platter, small as it was. All he wanted was his life. A little begging was a small price to pay for his life, and men like Lazare loved seeing men like him dance. Cervantes had thought that it was a good move. He was wrong.

“…Your kingdom means nothing to me. It is one of many, and I do not need it. Your wife’s connections are minimal at best. I have other, better ties to Sinaloa. Your children…oh, your poor children. So young, and already, they hate you. I can see why, now.” Lazare growled, low and dangerous. “I have done many things in my life, Cervantes. Many terrible, horrible things. And I have done them all without a single care, a single thought. I have murdered, beaten, stolen, burned, and betrayed…and I felt nothing. There is only one thing I cannot stand, one sin that I refuse to indulge in. Do you know what that is, Cervantes?”

“…N-No…?”

“ _Children_ , Cervantes. I will allow no harm to come to children. Nor will I allow them to remain where they are not safe and wanted.” Lazare leaned forward, his cruel green eyes boring into Cervantes’ frightened brown. “Do you think me weak, Cervantes?”

“N-No!”

“Good. Then we understand each other.” Lazare’s eerie smile returned. “I can see now what kind of man you are, Cervantes. I forgive you for selling me out. You weren’t being stupid. It was just in your nature.”

Cervantes dared to breathe, thinking that perhaps he had been spared.

Then, almost too fast to see, Lazare drew a gun from his jacket, aimed right between Cervantes’ eyes, and shot him dead.

* * *

An hour later, the body had been cleared.

Eduardo, the man who had come with Cervantes, had turned out to be his newest lieutenant. It seemed that lieutenants didn’t last very long in Cervantes’ employ. Chronic underhandedness on Cervantes’ part meant a high turnover rate due to sudden death. What a terrible business strategy. If there were Glassdoor reviews for crime bosses, Cervantes would certainly have the lowest rating possible.

Lazare had slipped his gun back into its holster and looked Eduardo up and down with a calculating eye. Sensing that the young man wanted nothing more than to live, he offered him the same deal he had given Cervantes: ten million _pesos_ in exchange for a line of warehouses on the docks. Eduardo, being a much smarter man than Cervantes, had taken the deal immediately. When the newly minted boss had asked Lazare what he wanted done with the body, Lazare had realized that he had unintentionally bought the loyalty of one of Veracruz’s kingpins. Delighted by his unusual acquisition, Lazare had simply waved him off, assuring him that Lazare’s men knew what to do.

“And what of Cervantes’ wife and children, _Señor_?” Eduardo had asked, and Lazare found himself liking the young man. Whether it was genuine concern or merely a self-serving interest, Eduardo was smart enough to pick up on Lazare’s refusal to harm children. He could use that.

“Go and see _Señora_ Cervantes. Tell her that her husband was out getting drunk and fell into the harbor. The police found his body and ruled it an accidental death. You identified the body and came to tell her straight away. In her bank account, she’ll find enough money to live on for the rest of her life, if she spends it wisely. Tomorrow, there will be three visas in her mail, one for her and two for her children, along with plane tickets to Madrid. It leaves in two days. She’ll find that her mother has already been informed that she’s moving back home, and there will be a house ready for her when she arrives. Her sons will be admitted to the best private school in the city. As long as she doesn’t ask questions, all of this will be hers. Do you understand?”

“I do, _Señor_.” And that had been that.

Once Eduardo had left, a new man had entered the office. Chiara turned the lights up, allowing the new man to step around the drying blood on the floor. He was tall and wiry, his dark hair cut close to his head, his skin dark and unblemished. He spoke with a Kenyan accent, his sharp eyes taking in the pattern of the bloodstain.

“Close range, Monsieur?”

“Unfortunately. I do believe that I’ve ruined this delightful little office.” Lazare sneered, his hatred of the ugly thing evident.

“I don’t think you’re all that torn up about it.” The man laughed.

“Not one bit, Cyrus. Not one bit.” Lazare rolled his shoulders before crossing his arms over his chest, leaning back with a casual air. “Everything is taken care of, I expect?”

“But of course.” Cyrus grinned.

“Good. Always one step ahead.”

“It’s why I have a job, Monsieur.” Cyrus’ smile widened.

Lazare winked at him before looking at the man in the corner. He was Asian, shorter than Cyrus and Lazare, built like a fighter and bearing the scars to prove it. Despite this, or perhaps because of it, he was still a very handsome man, and his roguish grin had charmed many a woman in his lifetime. When he felt Lazare’s gaze fall upon him, he stood taller, tilting his head in a silent question.

“Dechen, how is your mother?”

“All right. She misses Tibet, as do I, but to tell you the truth, she loves San Diego way too much to ever leave it.” Dechen shrugged in a ‘What can you do?’ sort of gesture.

“Give her my best, and let me know when you want to visit her again. I’ll make sure you have the time.”

“Sure thing, Monsieur.” Dechen nodded.

“And what of you, Kala? Did you enjoy scaring our guests?” Lazare finally turned to the woman in the corner. Her long hair was loose and wavy, her skin a warm brown, and her sharp eyes were lined with kohl. She flipped a butterfly knife open and closed over and over again, a habit that was meant to intimidate her enemies and entertain her friends.

“Always.” She let her lips pull up into a smile, the most emotion she had shown all night. Her Delhi accent had faded over the years he had known her, and Lazare was strangely sad to see it go.

“Excellent. I’ll be sending you to check on Eduardo before we go.” Lazare nodded to her before turning back to Chiara.

“Are things ready for our departure?”

“Your jet is waiting for us. We can leave at any time.”

“Good. Then, if there’s nothing else anyone needs to do here, I think we can leave this sorry place behind us.” Lazare stood up, looking around the office. Kala, Dechen, and Cyrus headed for the door. Dechen poked his head out, checking things out before heading into the hallway. Lazare heard him exchange a few words with whatever guards there were outside. Kala followed behind him, and Cyrus held the door for them, polite as ever.

Aurélien offered Chiara his arm, and she took it with an amused smile. They stepped over the blood, both of them offering Cyrus a word of thanks. As they made their way out to the waiting cars, Lazare looked over his shoulder at the office. Chiara raised an eyebrow, wondering what was going on in Aurélien’s brain.

“…Miss Alinari?”

“Yes, Monsieur Lazare?”

“…Just how many shoes will I have to buy you for you to arrange for a little… _structure fire_ …in this ruin of a building?”

Chiara’s laughter rang out through the empty halls.

“For this place, Monsieur? I’ll do it for free!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title taken from "Good Intent" by Kimbra. 
> 
> You can find my The Old Guard content at [comme-un-livre-ouvert.tumblr.com](https://comme-un-livre-ouvert.tumblr.com/)!


	8. Come To Me In The Night Hours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They say that the meek shall inherit the Earth, but Copley is anything but meek. It's time The Guard remembered that. 
> 
> Halfway across the world, the night is dark and full of secrets and confessions. Two lost souls share a moment on a balcony in Rio. Drinks don't loosen these tongues, only familiarity and trust that cannot be broken.
> 
> There ain't no rest for the wicked, but sometimes you get a moment to pause, and that will have to be enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello one and all! 
> 
> So, as I've mentioned in a few of my comments and notes, this story will probably not be updated weekly anymore. I will finish it, don't you worry, but as of right now, a confluence of factors beyond my control keep me from writing daily like I used to. All of this to say: yes, this story will be finished, but no, I probably won't be updating weekly like I used to. Expect chapters to be a more bi-weekly thing for a while. If I get back to updating weekly, great! But as of right now, I'm not sure that I'll be able to. Thank you for your patience! It will be rewarded! 
> 
> For now, please enjoy this chapter, which has a scene that I've been planning since the very beginning of this fic. 
> 
> You can find the playlist for this story [here](https://comme-un-livre-ouvert.tumblr.com/post/627308699042627584/kill-v-maim-grimes-b-e-h-a-v-e-never-more)!
> 
> The song playing in Rio is "Negue" by Maria Bethania.

_Three Weeks Later…_

“I have called you all here for a very important reason, so I would appreciate it if you let me finish speaking my piece before you interrupt me or contradict me.”

James Copley was no match for the group of immortals seated across from him, not physically, but in that moment, they were all reminded that this man was ex-CIA, deadly and dangerous in a way most humans, mortal or immortal, could never be. Even though he sat back in his chair with a relaxed postured, his hands steepled in front of him as he spoke, his eyes conveyed an air of power and command that few could rival. He was their own personal Lazarus, pulling strings that they could never find and keeping secrets that they would never know. The others quieted, various cups of coffee and tea forgotten in their hands as they listened.

“Good.” Copley stared at each of them in turn as he spoke, as if trying to drill the seriousness of his words and his convictions directly into their brains.

“You have been focusing all of your not inconsiderable efforts onto finding and capturing Lazarus for over a year. So far, you have turned up nothing but dead ends. Lazarus has made it clear that he does not want to be found, he does not want to see you, nor does he want anything to do with any of us, save for Nile, but that is a problem for another day. You have made me spend nearly every waking moment searching for a ghost while maintaining your secrets and freedom. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to keep five immortals who are hellbent on finding someone who doesn’t want to be found secret from the rest of the world? The places you’ve broken into, the people you have intimidated and bribed, the traps you have tripped, the traces you have left behind? All of it has brought you so close to being discovered that if the intelligence community wasn’t so focused on finding Lazarus and all the other criminals it has to keep track of, you would all be locked away in a cell or a laboratory by now!”

"You are supremely lucky that Lazarus has a stake in keeping you just as hidden as he is. If someone discovers who and what you are, they’ll eventually discover what he is too. Lazarus might be the best, but there will always be someone better sooner or later. He knows it and so do I, so without ever speaking, it seems that we have _both_ been covering your tracks. I’m only human, and I cannot and will not do this forever. Someday, I will die, and you will be on your own, but again, that is a problem for another day.”

“Lazarus was absolutely right: you are not ready for this game, and until you are, you need to keep far away from it. These last three weeks have been a blessing to me, since you seem to have finally slowed down and realized that this search, this chase, this _mess_ is futile for now. It has given me time to breathe and rest, but more importantly, it has given me time to realize something else. When you came to me and pressed me into your service, you told me that your purpose was to do some good. Tell me, what good have you done in this last year? I know it may not be much time for you, but for the rest of us, a year can feel like forever. I have had to turn down jobs and route them to less-qualified groups because you were trying to capture a phantom. People have died, people who maybe could have lived if you had been there.”

“I understand why you want to find him, I really do, but surely by now you realize that nothing can come of this. The ball is in his court, and until or unless he wants to bring you back into his life, he will do everything he can to keep as far away from you as possible. In the meantime, if you intend to keep using my services, you need to focus on your real mission and fight the good fight. I know you said that I have no choice, but I’d like to think that we all know each other better by now. You know damn well that I could hide from you just as easily as Lazarus does. Maybe not as effectively. Maybe someday you would find me, but I am slowly leaving middle age, and I have a few decades left at best. Death does not scare me, and neither do you, not anymore. I’d like to think that we are all friends by now, and I would much rather keep it that way, but enough is enough. Give up this fool’s errand. Do some good. There will always be crime lords, drug dealers, and hackers. What Lazarus is doing is illegal, yes, but he is hardly doing any more harm than countless others in his trade. Leave him to it.”

“On my desktop, I have two different missions for you to choose from. One is an ongoing hostage situation in Colombia, and the other is a black-market art deal going down in Russia in six days. Both could be solved by mortal agents, but the chances of a successful outcome will go down significantly if these missions don’t receive your special brand of attention. You can solve one and go fix the other in rapid succession, but only if you get yourselves in gear and head out tomorrow. Of course, you’re free to do whatever you want, but there is great evil in this world that you have been neglecting for over a year. You brought me into this with the promise that we would do some good for the world. Now, either we fucking do it, or I walk away. Your choice.”

Silence reined when Copley finished his speech, the immortals at a loss for words. Copley was far from a pushover, but they had grown comfortable around the man, so much so that they had indeed forgotten just how formidable he really was. This was the man who had figured out their secret on his own, long before Booker had ever confirmed his theories. They had no doubt that he would follow through on his threats. Granted, they could probably negotiate with him, but did they really want to? Ten years after their initial meeting, poor as it was, Copley had become their friend and confidante. They didn’t want to lose him, and besides, he was right: they _had_ been neglecting what they considered to be their duty. What Lazarus was doing was the same thing most criminals did, and to be fair, it seemed that the only harm he was causing right now was to his fellow crime lords. So far, the innocents of the world remained untouched. Perhaps this could lead to something devastating in the future, but there was only so much they could do about it.

Nile’s invitation hung in the backs of their minds, but that was a problem for another day.

Copley was right. Their search had led them nowhere. Some time and distance would do them some good, and in the meantime, there were always battles to be fought. They were the guardians of humanity, doing what they thought was right, protecting the innocent, fighting for those who could not fight for themselves. Yes, it was time to take up their swords once again. Nile was the first to agree, her thoughts having aligned with Copley’s for a while now. He smiled at her, grateful for her support. Joe and Nicky also agreed, remembering their conversation in Barcelona and knowing that there was nothing else they could do right now. Quynh gave Copley a look of grudging respect, proud of his courage in standing up to them, although she didn’t believe that their search was futile. Andy was the last to agree, but she too saw the truth in his words. Just because they weren’t actively searching for Lazarus didn’t mean that they couldn’t keep an eye out for him. Some time away from a problem often lead to finding the solution, and she was tired of running around in circles. In a few months, perhaps, they could talk about Nile’s invitation and go from there.

For now, there was work to do.

“Let’s start with Colombia. I hear it’s nice this time of year.”

* * *

_Negue seu amor, o seu carinho  
_ _Diga que você já me esqueceu_

_Pise, machucando com jeitinho_

_Este coração que ainda é seu_

To sit on the exquisite balcony of the penthouse suite of the most expensive and luxurious hotel in Rio was a rare privilege, but it was one that Chiara Alinari had grown to take for granted these days. The number of fancy hotels she had stayed in while in the company of Aurélien Lazare was surely in the hundreds by now. Still, it was nights like these that reminded her that she must have done something right to win Lady Luck’s favor, and that if she hadn’t done whatever it was, she would still be a nobody in Italy, struggling to survive. In the background, a deep, womanly voice sang a lament about love. Chiara swayed with it, tracing elegant figure eights around the balcony, weaving around chairs and tables with ease. Old lessons learned at the hands and feet of stone-faced ballet masters had drilled rhythm and grace into her bones, and she moved about the small space with silent steps, waltzing with the very air itself. As the song came to an end, she heard the clinking of glasses behind her. She allowed herself to be pulled out of her rhythmic reverie as Aurélien stepped out onto the terrace.

“Bravo, my little peacock.” Aurélien grinned, speaking in his native French. After a day spent arguing and threatening in Brazilian Portuguese, it was a relief to slip back into the language of his homeland. He offered Chiara a drink, a _Caipirinha_ if she wasn’t mistaken. When in Rome…

“Thank you, my little ferret.” Chiara bowed gracefully before taking her drink, clinking their classes together in a silent toast.

By an unspoken agreement, the two sat in the lounge chairs provided by the hotel, separated only by a small table barely big enough to hold their drinks. They looked up at the night sky, trying to see the stars through the light pollution. Chiara flexed her toes, her chest lifting up as she stretched, sighing happily as her bones settled back into place. They’d abandoned their shoes hours ago, ties and belts and jackets tossed over the nearest piece of furniture in their bid to relax. Chiara had wiped off her makeup while Aurélien brushed the gel from his hair. It was an old routine, and they moved with the practiced grace of old lovers and fast friends. Her blouse was unbuttoned halfway down to her navel. His pants were slung low on his hips while his shirt hung open, baring his chest. Her miniskirt left her legs bare to the warm night wind, the marks from the straps of her heels fading quickly. If they could see themselves from an outside perspective, they would say that they looked thoroughly debauched before laughing at the ridiculousness of it all.

It had been a long day. Aurélien, Chiara, Cyrus, and Kala, along with a few of their best men, had come to Rio to settle a score with a local drug lord. The idiot had been siphoning off business from them, and to top it all off, he had killed quite a few of Lazare’s allies in the process. That was an insult that could not be allowed to continue, and so Kala had made an example of the man… _after_ Aurélien had given him one of his finest “You are an idiot” speeches yet. Chiara wished she had recorded it. Something told her that Cyrus had memorized it all, brilliant genius that he was, so she made a mental note to ask him about it later. All in all, it was a bloody but good day, and Dechen had called just an hour ago to confirm that everything was ready for them in Mexico City. Tomorrow evening, they would be in the air again, flying off to their next appointment. It was a busy life, but Chiara wasn’t complaining.

“I can hear your brain turning at a million kilometers per second, my dear.” Aurélien murmured. He had switched off the radio on his way out, leaving only the gentle pulsing of the ocean to disturb the midnight quiet.

“I was just thinking about today, Aurélien.” Chiara shrugged, setting her drink down. It was mostly ice now, anyway. “The execution, Mexico City, Kala’s upcoming birthday. The usual.”

“Have you gotten her a gift yet?”

“Yes. Did you?”

“No, but only because it’s on back order.”

“I see.”

The waves caressed the shore like a lover far beneath them. A few cars drove by, but they were too high up to hear them. Someone opened a sliding door a level beneath them, looked out into the darkness for a few moments, and then closed it again. Aurélien put his empty glass down.

“Have you ever been in love, Chiara?” Aurélien asked the black sky. The woman in question raised an eyebrow at the moon.

“…No. I haven’t. Not yet. Not in the way you mean.” She turned to look at him. “Have you?”

“Yes.”

“Hm.”

* * *

A long time ago, shortly after they had first met, before they had truly trusted each other with nearly everything they had, Chiara and Aurélien had fallen into bed. It was just the two of them back then. There was no Lazarus, not yet, nor was there a Miss Alinari. There was just Chiara and Aurélien, lost and alone in a world too big for two broken people. It had felt natural, like something that was meant to be. He was an attentive lover, and Chiara had responded in kind. He was her first, and she didn’t care that she wasn’t his. It had felt good, so incredibly good, but most of all, it had been a test. They hadn’t realized it at the time, but when their breathing had slowed and their souls fell back down to earth, both knew that they had passed that final barrier between them. Over the years, they had taken comfort in each other’s bodies a handful of times, but it was never a sure thing. If they never came together like that again, they would feel no loss. It was comfort, a safe harbor in a stormy sea. They didn't need sex to belong to each other. What they had belonged only to them, and they felt no need to explain themselves, not even to each other.

It wasn’t love, not like _that_. They had known from the beginning that their souls were not made to be joined as true lovers were. Their bond was unique: _philia_ , _storge_ , and _agape_ , all blending into one. They felt the kinds of love found in the deepest of friendships, mixing together to form a strange kind of _pragma_ , enduring love, the kind only found in the oldest and strongest of relationships. They both struggled with _philautia_ , self-love, but they were getting there. No, they were not _in_ love, but they loved each other with an all-consuming fire that would make the Ancient Greeks weep to see it. Chiara knew this in her soul, and she knew, without him ever saying the words aloud, that Aurélien felt it too.

* * *

Chiara looked back up at the sky, counting the dark spots on the moon. Some kind of night bird flew by, its wings silenced by the crashing waves.

“I thought myself in love, once.” She offered, barely a whisper.

“With who?”

“A boy at the neighboring school. He was kind to me at the Easter fairs. I mistook kindness for love. I did not know any better. The nuns never taught us, and the priests made sure that we feared anything but the holiest of loves.”

“That sounds very Catholic of them.”

They laughed.

Their world fell quiet.

Chiara would not push. Aurélien was going somewhere with this, and she would let him do it in his own time. She felt the gratitude rolling off of him and kept her silence.

The waves were like a metronome, and without conscious thought, she began counting her breaths.

“I had a wife when I was young. Her name was Èlodie. She died of cancer. I had three sons with her, but they are gone now. Lost to accidents and sickness. I am all that’s left.” Aurélien heard a rustling of fabric, and he knew without looking that Chiara’s hand was reaching for his. An offer, not a demand. She would not be offended if he did not take her up on it, and he loved her for it.

He took her hand, their palms touching as fingers bent to keep each other near, and he soldiered on.

“I thought that I would never love again, that I would be sentenced to loneliness for the rest of my days. And then…then I met _them_. They were so radiant, the sun and the moon, and I was earthbound, staring at their beauty from afar, sentenced to the pain of knowing that they would never be mine. I loved them with a passion I had never felt with Èlodie. That is not to say that I never loved her, nor that I would have been anything less than happy with her if fate had been kinder. But with them…”

Chiara turned her head again, watching the rise and fall of his chest, the choked motions of his Adam’s apple as he tried to swallow around his emotions.

“With them…I felt _joy_. I tried to content myself with loving them from afar. They were whole and complete, and I was broken. I could not taint them with my sorrow, so I never said anything. I almost slipped so many times, but they never knew. And then…well, you know what became of me. What I did. Why I did it. The years of pining added to the years of depression, of missing my wife and children, of remembering how much they hated me at the end, because I lived while they died and I could do nothing to save them…it was all too much. And yet.”

He laughed, but it was more of a sob than a laugh.

“And yet, you still love them.”

“Yes, my darling Chiara. I still love them, and I think I always will.”

Aurélien grew quiet again, the sobs disappearing just as quickly as they came, replaced by some other emotion. This was Aurélien in his truest form, as close to himself as he dared to be. Chiara wondered if Aurélien even knew who he was, or if he, like her, wore so many masks that the real person hidden beneath them never had a chance to grow. As always, she waited, knowing that Aurélien would speak when he wanted to. The moon shone down on them, comforting and baleful all at once.

“…And yet…” Aurélien whispered, his eyes narrowing as he glared at the moon.

“And yet?” Chiara watched as Aurélien’s gaze turned to meet hers.

“And yet…I _hate_ them.”

There was rage in his eyes, incandescent rage, the kind that Chiara knew could topple empires and eviscerate the strongest of men. Aurélien liked to be composed in public, wearing a layer of calmness and disdain like a cloak, but here, alone with the one person in the world he trusted? The cloak was tossed aside, and he let his emotions seethe and burn. It was beautiful in the way lightning was beautiful, deadly and awe-inspiring all at once. She held his gaze, leaning towards him like a moth to a flame.

“I _hate_ them, Chiara. They _left_ me. They _abandoned_ me. I needed them and they would always leave. All of them, not just the ones I loved with all of my rotten soul. They only called me when they needed something from me. If I tried to go with them, they would tire of me within days, if they even let me go along in the first place. No one wanted to bother with the sad, drunken man who kept them safe, who spent countless sleepless nights wiping the traces of their existence from the digital void. They saw me at my worst, back when we first met, still reeling from the loss of the life I had known and the people I had loved, and when I refused their help, lost and scared as I was, they refused to ever give it again. When I was ready for it, they never offered it, and I was too ashamed and too afraid to ask for it. It all became too much. I cried out for help in every way I could, and they didn’t care. They let me _drown_ , Chiara, and when I tried to rescue myself from it, they cast me out! Without hearing me out, without letting me explain or defend myself! They just…threw me away. They _threw me away_ , Chiara!”

“And now…now they think that I _owe_ them something. That they still have a right to me, to my life, to the things that I have built without them. I told them to leave me alone, and still they won’t listen. I should have known better. They never listened before, so why should they listen now? They’re so reckless, Chiara, running around the world as if I was still their guardian, forcing me to think of them and protect them, because if I don’t, they’ll get caught, and if they get caught, they can be used against me. Damn them! Why can’t they just leave me alone? They were so good at it, Chiara. It came so naturally to them. Where did it all go? Oh, Chiara…I _hate_ them!”

Aurélien broke. Chiara watched as the glass so many mistook for diamond shattered into a million pieces as Aurélien wept. She let go of his hand, sliding out of her armchair so she could climb onto his. She pulled him into her arms, curling around him protectively, his head buried in her neck. Their legs tangled together as Aurélien let out what felt like a thousand years of pain. Not once did Chiara let go, even when he screamed into her shoulder. She only pulled him closer, running her fingers through his hair, whispering soothing nonsense in French and Italian.

She glared at the stars and the sky, at the moon and the balcony wall, righteous anger and hatred boiling in her blood. How dare they hurt her friend? She would make them pay. She would hate them forever. She would tear them apart. She would destroy them utterly. Anything to make Aurélien smile, to bring him comfort, to make him happy. Anything. There was never a question about it before, and there wasn’t one now.

And yet…

Would her anger really help Aurélien? Did he need her fury, or did he need her patience? Would rending and tearing and mauling them bring Aurélien comfort, or would it only satisfy her personal bloodlust? All her life, she had used anger as fuel, refusing to even entertain the notion of sadness and despair. Not once since Aurélien had rescued her had she let herself cry. Tears were a weakness, and yet, here he was, her Aurélien, crying into her shirt. Unashamed, unafraid, trusting her with this, the most fragile part of himself. Oh, Aurélien. Such a beautiful man, so wasted on a world as cruel as this. He acted like he was just like her, all rage and pain and sardonic smiles, but deep down, what were they, really? Just two broken people, hiding behind spiked walls built in the name of self-preservation. She knew him, and he knew her. He wasn’t like her. He never had been, and never would be.

Perhaps, someday, she could be more like him.

* * *

It felt like hours had passed before Aurélien calmed down, but it was perhaps ten or twenty minutes at most. She quietly passed him a handkerchief, tracing a pattern across his shoulders as he cleaned himself up. He pressed a kiss to her neck, where her throat met her shoulder, in thanks. He set the cloth aside, shifting them so that now she was held in his arms, their legs still tangled together. Chiara looked out into the night, watching the reflection of the moon distort as the sea moved endlessly towards the shore. Aurélien kissed the crown of her head. Chiara took his hand in hers and brought it up to her lips, kissing each knuckle before kissing his palm.

“What will we do now, my darling ferret?” Chiara felt Aurélien’s grin against her hair.

“We will do what we have always done, my darling peacock. The future is not for us to know, only for us to prepare for.” Aurélien murmured. “But I know this to be true: there is nothing in this world that will stop me from loving you. Thank you, Chiara, my heart, my dearest friend, my fiercest defender, for always protecting me.”

“You deserve it, my friend, my love, my dearest.” Chiara smiled softly, closing her eyes. She couldn’t cry. Not yet. Someday, though…someday, she would let herself cry, like he had, and Aurélien would be the only one to see it. “You are my dearest friend, Aurélien. My family. I would do anything for you, without question. Thank you for trusting me.”

“Always.” Aurélien kissed her temple.

They lapsed into silence, letting the sound of the ocean lull them into a bit of a doze. Half an hour passed this way, the moon slowly moving across the sky as the night began to turn into the morning. The air remained blessedly warm. Neither moved to go inside, content to linger in this almost liminal moment. A boundary had been crossed. A gate had been opened. A new world had been discovered on the other side of an ocean they hadn’t even known was there. They protected each other, yes, but before now, they had not allowed themselves to be truly _vulnerable_ in front of each other. They had needed to be strong, for each other and themselves, even when it was only the two of them. Now they knew that breaking down would not break them. Aurélien, brave as always, had made the first move. Someday, when Chiara needed it, he would hold her too. There was no resentment that she was not ready to take that step yet. It would come in time, and he would be there.

Below them, the tide came in. Down on the street, a car drove by, unnoticed by the inhabitants of the hotel. Above them, the moon became a friendly face once again. All seemed quiet, the past put to rest.

But then…

“Sebastien.”

“Hm?”

“My name isn’t Aurélien. It’s Sebastien.”

“Sebastien.” Chiara smiled, her eyes still closed. “It’s a beautiful name.”

“If you say so.”

“I do.”

“Then it is.”

Chiara hummed, laughter bubbling up in her chest.

“I think I will call you Basti. Sebastien is too long.”

“It’s four syllables!”

“Which is two syllables too many.”

“Chiara is three!”

“Hush.”

Chiara’s admonishment hung in the air for a tense second before the two of them burst out into childish giggles. Sebastien snickered when Chiara tried to stretch out her legs, grumbling as pins and needles shot through her nerves. Her calves had fallen asleep. Sebastien kissed her cheek, which soothed her halfhearted grousing. They went back to looking at the stars.

And then…

“Fiammetta.”

“Hm?”

“My name isn’t Chiara. I was born Fiammetta Pellegrino.”

“It is a beautiful name.”

They both knew that Sebastien had already known this. Chiara was no great hacker like Sebastien was. He wouldn't be half as dangerous as he was if he hadn't read her records before he erased them. Information was power. Still, he pretended to be surprised, giving the moment the dignity it deserved.

“My mother called me Fiammetta. My father called me Daughter. My brothers and sisters called me Fia.”

“It's a versatile name.”

“Yes. It is.”

“...But?”

“But I still wish to be called Chiara. Fiammetta was pressed upon me. I _chose_ Chiara.”

“Then Chiara you shall be.”

“Thank you, my dear little ferret.”

"You're welcome, my dear little peacock."

They lapsed into silence again. Chiara held Sebastien’s name close to her heart like the treasure it was. To the world, he was Lazarus. To the underworld, he was Monsieur Lazare. To her, he had been Aurélien. In public, he still would be.

Now, though, just between the two of them, he was Sebastien, sometimes called Basti.

Today had been a good day.

* * *

_“_ _He’s a slippery bastard, that’s for sure!”_

 _“What else did you expect, eh? He’s fucking_ Lazarus _, asshole! Did you think it would be easy?”_

_“No, but there’s something supernatural about him, I’m telling you!”_

_“Your auntie had feelings about ghosts too, and she just ended up being schizophrenic, man.”_

_“You don’t talk shit about Auntie Clara, you bastard!”_

_“Enough!”_

_“Sorry, boss.”_

_“Have you found his last location?”_

_“No, boss, but I think we’ve found something better.”_

_“What is it?”_

_“Boss…have you ever heard of a woman named Andy?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title taken from "War Of Hearts" by Ruelle.
> 
> Translated lyrics from "Negue" by Maria Bethania: 
> 
> _Negue seu amor, o seu carinho_ \- Deny you loved me, you cared about me  
>  _Diga que você já me esqueceu_ \- Tell me I'm over you  
>  _Pise, machucando com jeitinho_ \- Tread gently upon my heart  
>  _Este coração que ainda é seu_ \- Which is still yours too
> 
> If you speak Brazilian Portuguese and find an error in the lyric translation I found, please let me know!
> 
> You can find my The Old Guard stuff at [comme-un-livre-ouvert.tumblr.com](https://comme-un-livre-ouvert.tumblr.com/)!


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